


moving on is never simple

by eomerking



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking, F/M, Fighting, M/M, Mentions of surgery, Rocky start, abandoned, blood/gore, but only if you're american, it's basically only T rated for swearing, lots of swearing, pot brownies, technically it's underage drinking, the slowest burn you've ever bloody seen, very sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 17:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 73,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3389510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eomerking/pseuds/eomerking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What they all know is that Clarke is a second-time freshman and that she left Yale to pursue a course in backwater Washington instead. They just don't know why, and Clarke isn't exactly eager to tell them. </p><p>(But Octavia is is quite good at getting to the bottom of things)</p><p>OFFICIALLY ABANDONED//NO ENDING</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Or the working title 'the mess that is Bellamy and Clarke through Octavia's eyes'
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so all mistakes are mine. This is also my first the 100 fic, so I apologise for any OOC moments.

Octavia eases her key into the lock and lets the door to her new dorm swing open. Bellamy is behind her, his face sour, grumbling under his breath as he struggles to hold up the over-loaded cardboard box in his arms. Miller is just behind him, just as burdened by her stuff, but managing to keep his nasty comments to himself. Octavia herself has only her jacket and a backpack (but that was allowed because she had to find the room _and_ open the door). The rest of her stuff is still in Bellamy’s truck, packed properly and labelled, because Octavia remembers the fiasco that was helping the boys set up for college.

The room itself is plain and simple, the standard for dorms on campus. Beige walls and a drab grey carpet. That isn’t the surprising part. What _is_ surprising is the fact that one half has already been taken over, things laid out neatly on one of the desks, one of the beds made with bright sheets, and a poster up on the wall. Her roommate, however, is nowhere to be seen.

“Guess I’m having this side, then.”

Octavia calls over her shoulder for the boys to dump her stuff on the free bed, then sets to work unpacking as they trudge off to get more boxes. When they’re gone Octavia can’t resist looking at the far side of the room more carefully, abandoning the boxes so she can snoop.

The sheets on the bed are brand new, with the package induced creases still present, but the poster on the wall is frayed at the edges. It was of Niagara Falls, the sun-faded water turned a strange green and the sky almost yellow. The desk is meticulously clean, a laptop in the centre and half a dozen pots of pens and pencils next to it. The only clutter is a haphazard pile of books – fiction, not textbooks – on the bedside table, and an open pack of sweets on the bed. The room looks very lived in, despite the ordered nature.

Octavia can’t quite get an exact read of what her new roommate will be like, not on so few things, but it was clear she was neat and tidy. After years of living with only her brother and all of his extremely boyish friends around, that sat with Octavia just fine.

Bellamy and Miller come back with more boxes as she’s just finishing packing away the two they’d brought first, and since there was only one more left to get, it’s only Miller who leaves the room again. Bellamy flops down onto her unmade bed, letting out a whoosh of breath. He turns his head to look at Octavia’s roommate’s side, looking out from underneath his messy mop of hair.

“Huh. Wonder if she’s as big a bitch as the one Harper got first year.”

Octavia ignores him, digging through the boxes and pulling things out. There’s several photo frames in one of the boxes, of her and her friends and one of her family too (it’s of her and Bell and her mother, taken before the boyfriends got steadily worse and worse). She tosses one at Bellamy - Jasper and Monty with red eyes and Octavia clasping a cup of Monty’s homebrew - and when it lands on his stomach he lets out a small ‘oof’.

“See what you can do about these, Bell.”

He’s tapping along the wall trying to find a good spot to hang them when the door opens again. Octavia assumes it’s Miller, so looks up with a question half out of her mouth, only to back pedal slightly when she’s met with the surprised face of a blonde woman she definitely doesn’t know.

“You’re not Miller.”

The woman’s face crinkles into a smile almost immediately. By the way it sort of jerks into being, Octavia is inclined to think that she hasn’t smiled in a while.

“No, I’m not. You Octavia Blake?”

She kicks the door to a close behind her, a sketchbook in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. She’s dressed for the cold, despite it being only September, with a thick sweater that ends halfway down her thighs and a woolly scarf wrapped around her neck. Her hair is piled on top of her head, and she looks over at Octavia with scarily blue eyes. Octavia has a feeling that this woman has the ability to look at her and know anything about her. The smile that’s still on her face lessens the effect slightly, but she still seems slightly terrifying, so Octavia guesses that she must just have an air about her.

Bellamy turns from the wall to stare at her too. The woman looks over at him with an eyebrow raised, then back over to Octavia. Objectively, Octavia can see that she’s attractive, having the whole blonde-hair-blue-eyes thing going on, a nice figure and a very symmetrical face. She also looks far too well put together and confident to be a freshman like Octavia. Bellamy can obviously see the woman’s appeal too, as his lips are parted slightly and his eyes are looking over her in a way that isn’t entirely PG. Octavia makes a noise of disgust that he doesn’t seem to hear.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Octavia says in the vain hope of getting her brother to stop ogling the poor woman. She throws out an arm and pats Bellamy’s arm. “This is my brother Bellamy.”

“Clarke Griffin: your roommate.”

Octavia thinks for a moment that Clarke is strange name for a girl, then remembers suddenly that she’s called _Octavia_ and isn’t really in a position to discuss peculiar names.

The woman, Clarke, puts down her things on the desk, pulling a pencil from behind her ears and slotting it back into one of the pots. The scarf comes off, and Octavia is still staring at the woman. Clarke looks up at her, the smile lessening slightly as she meets Octavia’s eyes. Octavia isn’t quite sure what Clarke sees when she looks at her, but it’s enough to make her smile flare up again. Bellamy looks like he wants to say something – probably to start interrogating Clarke on her suitability of being Octavia’s roommate, but Clarke speaks up before her brother can begin throwing questions about.

“You need any help setting up, or getting anywhere? I’ve been here a few days now.” Clarke says, sitting down on her own bed.

“No. I mean, no thanks. My brother goes here, so I’ve got him for directions, and I’ve enough people to help sort the rest out.” Clarke nods and looks away, hands reaching for the pack of sweets. Octavia bites the bullet. “Sorry, but you look a little old to be a freshman.”

Clarke’s head whips up and she blinks at Octavia’s bluntness then smiles wryly and laughs. Bellamy is looking away from his sister in mute horror, but she catches him glancing at Clarke in interest. Clarke grins earnestly, and she moves from pretty to just short of breath-taking. Octavia is suddenly very glad that Jasper and Monty aren’t there to see Clarke, as right now they’d take one look at her and declare their undying love.

“Yeah. This is my second try at college.”

“Where’d you go the first time?”

“Yale. I was pre-med.”

Octavia stares at Clarke open mouthed, and Bellamy snorts and asks her gruffly, “You came all the way from _Yale_ to here?”

Clarke tilts her head at Octavia’s brother, her lips pursed slightly and her eyebrows raised. It’s clear that Bellamy is very distracted by the look her roommate is giving him. “Ark U isn’t so bad.”

“ _Yale_ , princess.”

The woman on the bed blinks completely uncomprehendingly at Bellamy, her jaw jutting out a fraction as she stares him out, then shrugs.

Bellamy looks utterly perplexed, probably stuck between calling Clarke stupid, demanding to know why she travelled almost _three-thousand miles_ from Connecticut to get to Ark, Washington, and wondering where the hell _princess_ came from.

Octavia’s mind is firmly stuck on the fact that her brother just called her roommate princess _._ They’re saved from any awkwardness by a knock on the door. Octavia hurries towards it, throwing Clarke a grin.

Miller has the final box in his hands, a duffel bag balanced carefully on top. His beanie is askew and he looks out of breath. Octavia looks back over to Clarke with a smile, throwing the door open wide so she can see Miller.

“Clarke, _this_ is Miller, Bellamy’s best friend and basically my second older brother. Miller, this is Clarke, my roommate.”

“N’aww, O, you’re so cute. Now move, this box is fucking heavy.”

Clarke looks Miller over too, her eyes curious and assessing. “You go here too, Miller?” She asks, her voice light.

“Nah, Police Academy in town.”

She seems surprised by the answer, but then her whole expression eases back into an easy smile. Clarke stands and moves over to her desk, picking up her coffee and cradling it in her hands.

“Sorry to dash, but I’ve got a hot date with the library, so I’ll see you later, Octavia.”

“You’re studying already?”

Clarke shrugs again, the gesture effortless and graceful. Octavia is weirdly very jealous.

“I need some more reference books. Art History needs a ridiculous amount of sources.”

Bellamy’s eyes widen and he snorts again. “You left Yale pre-med to come here and do _Art History_?”

Clarke finally seems irritated by Bellamy, catching up with what everyone else has been feeling for over a decade – two, for poor Miller and Murphy. She shifts her weight to one leg and props the hand not holding coffee at her waist. She narrows her eyes and tips her head back slightly so she can look at him down her nose. For a moment Octavia feels slight indignation at someone starting an argument with her brother, but Clarke seems completely ready to put Bellamy in his place, so she decides to sit back and watch it play out.

“What do you have against your own college, Bellamy?”

“Well, it’s no Yale.” He says it as if Clarke is incredibly stupid, and alarmingly enough Octavia can see the beginning of a snarl on Clarke’s face. 

“I’m sorry, next time I choose where to study I’ll make sure to consult you.” Sarcasm drips off of her voice, and Bellamy visibly tenses at it, drawing himself up for a fight. Miller looks at her in alarm. Octavia recognises the look Bellamy has on his face too, the one that usually heralds fist fights and bloody noses.

“ _Choose_? You chose backwater Washington over one of the top colleges in the US. Obviously you need to consult _someone_.”

Just like that Clarke’s face shutters close, her expression dropping away completely.

“When you know enough about me, Bellamy Blake, _then_ you can fucking judge.”

Octavia punches her brother solidly in the arm, and Miller is seemingly torn between laughing and wondering what just happened.

 “Bellamy, _shut the fuck up_.” Clarke is already gone by the time Octavia’s speaking, and so she rushes out of the dorm after throwing Bellamy one last venomous glare. Clarke is close to storming down the hall, coffee clenched tightly in her hand.

“Hey, Clarke! Hey, slow down!” She does turn at the sound of Octavia’s voice, her face blank.

“I’m so sorry about him, I don’t know why he’s such a massive dick. I mean he’s a dick normally, that’s kind of who he is as a person, but he’s only just met you so I don’t know _why_ he is now. It’s not like you even said anything, either, Christ. I’ll make him apologise. I – _shit_ , I’m so sorry.” At her garbled apology Clarke’s face warms up some, her mouth twisting in a small smile. She stares into her coffee, her shoulders a sad curve.

“It’s not entirely his fault.” Clarke says quietly. “It’s just, what he said, it hit a little too close to…” She sighs and runs a hand over her face. It’s then Octavia gets a look at her closely and properly, and can see the faint bruises under her eyes and the way her face always sets back into something hard and steely.

“Ah. Bad reasons for leaving?”

Clarke’s laugh is bark of unhappiness. “Several.” She says goodbye to Octavia again, then is lost in the crowd of students and families crowding the halls.

* * *

 

Miller is pulling books out of a box and sorting them hesitantly on her desk, lining them alphabetically first, then by subject, then flicking back to alphabetically. He looks up when she comes in, sees the fury on her face, then looks away quickly. She can hear him mutter something to Bellamy, whose shoulders tense even more than they did when she first opened the door then slammed it shut.

Bellamy has his back to her, having gone back to tapping the wall. Octavia waits for him to turn around, which he does after Miller thumps him. He meets her eyes steadily, but a lifetime of being angry at Bellamy Blake has taught Octavia to tell the difference between him being calm, him being completely wound up, and him waiting for the storm to blow over. Currently he’s the second one, but there is fear steadily creeping into his eyes as he actually looks at her.

Octavia has both of her fists planted at her hips, thumbs out and ready to start swinging. He snorts.

“What the hell was wrong with her?”

Miller cringes.

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH _YOU_ , BELL?”

“What? I barely said anything!”

“We’ve literally just met her and you’ve already belittled her life choices, laughed at her college course, and called her princess. _Princess_ , Bellamy? Really? How fucking old are you?”

Miller seems to choke on air. “Princess? Bell tried to hit on your _roommate_? Your roommate who is the same age as you and thus five years younger than him?”

Octavia shakes her head, “She’s not my age, at least – but that’s not the point! The fact that you’re were horribly patronising and criticised her despite knowing her all of thirty seconds _is the point_!”

Bellamy flushes horribly, the colour rushing into his tanned cheeks and making his freckles stand out. He pushes a hand through his messy hair, making the thick curls stand up even worse.

“I didn’t – it wasn’t like I _meant_ to call her princess!”

“So you just throw out endearments on the casual, yeah?” Miller is enjoying this thoroughly, leaning against Octavia’s desk and folding his arms. Octavia wants to meet his grin, hardly ever missing out on the opportunity to tease her brother (eighteen years of merciless embarrassment is a lot to make up for) but she wipes her face to stare Bellamy down. She may not know Clarke Griffin, but she knows how much of an asshole her brother can be.

“Seriously, Bell. What even happened?”

“I – I don’t know. She just,” Bellamy makes a noise of frustration “She rubbed me up the wrong way is all. She left Yale to come out here and study art. Who the hell even does that?”

“She does, apparently.” Miller says. Octavia nods in agreement.

“Yes, Clarke Griffin does. So the next time you see Clarke Griffin, you are going to _apologise_.”

“O-”

“I don’t care whether you’re in the caf, in an aisle in the library, or in some fucking club in town. Next time you see her you get on your damn knees and say sorry.”

“O, I’m not getting on my fucking knees for her. It’s not my fault _princess_ is so damn touchy.”

Miller is shaking his head, his grin growing impossibly wider. Bellamy is staring down at his little sister like she’s just suggested he shave his head and dance in his boxers. He has his arms folded across his chest obstinately, his jaw set firmly. It’s not good for Octavia’s temper. She takes a step towards him, her fists tightening.

“I have to live with this girl for the next _year_ , Bellamy, so when you apologise you’re gonna make a proper fucking job of it. Or so help me _God_.” She whirls to Miller, whose smile quickly drops when she jabs a finger at him. “When I get back make sure he has every single one of those pictures up on the wall.”

“What – why, where the hell are you going, Octavia?” Bellamy demands.

“To find someone that I don’t currently want to punch in the face.”

Octavia stomps out of the dorm, already flicking through her texts to find where Japer’s and Monty’s dorm is.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dutch courage has Octavia making a new friend.

In the end Octavia doesn’t even go back to her own dorm room, instead staying at Jasper’s and Monty’s. Not only are the two of them in the same room, but they’ve somehow managed to bag an absolutely massive dorm _with an en suite._ It’s enough to make Octavia wish that she could share (but then Jasper laughs at something Monty says and soda comes out of his nose so she revaluates slightly).

She sends Bellamy a text after they’ve ordered pizza and Monty hogged most of it.

_My pictures best be up, brother dear. And if you’ve seen Clarke YOU BETTER HAVE APOLOGISED._

**Photos up. Haven’t seen roommate.**

_At all? She hasn’t come back yet?_

**No.**

_When did you leave the room?_

**Earlier.**

_I wish miller was my brother._

Octavia had scowled down at her phone then chucked across the room. It landed on Monty’s bed and bounced harmlessly.

Monty had tutted and offered her a mug full of his peach flavoured moonshine that he made especially for her (It was lovingly called Peach Shine). He’d already set up the still for his Halloween special of pumpkin spice – the moonshine was the whole reason they had fought so hard for the en-suite bathroom, as Jasper confided none too quietly that they expected to make a _killing_ over the coming year.

The boys had demanded to know what had gone down between Bellamy and her roommate, and once she’d told them they’d acted it back out to her, Jasper playing Bellamy and Monty pretending to be Clarke. Octavia tried to guide him on Clarke’s voice, but failed miserably and ended up in a heap of stomach-aching laughter and tears when Jasper-Bellamy declared his ‘gruff, grumpy and grouchy’ love for Monty-Clarke. Monty had then flicked back his hair and pounced on Jasper, rolling with him on one of the beds.

They’d watched tv after that, all stretched out on Jasper’s bed. The moonshine got passed between them and so did the massive bag of crisps that Jasper pulled out from thin air.

Eventually she’d curled up asleep with Monty on his bed, because Jasper was a notorious cuddler and drooler, and it was well known by _everyone_ that Monty had an undying crush on Miller (Miller didn’t know, obviously. Because he is an idiot) meaning that Bellamy wouldn’t go off on one when he found out. When she woke up in the morning Monty was asleep and looked perfect and angelic like a little baby cherub, his hair fluffy and almost covering his eyes, whilst Jasper was a literal human mess that was more off the bed than on it. He was also snoring very loudly, his mouth so far open Octavia was surprised he hadn’t actually dislocated his jaw. Octavia stole Jasper’s comb and managed to yank it through her hair, then patted both boys on the cheek before she left.

It takes a little longer to get back to her dorm than she remembers it taking to get to the boys’, and Octavia is actively confused by how few people are actually out and about. She finds out why when, when she checks her phone, it’s actually only seven ’o’ clock on a _Sunday morning_. It also explains why when she walks past the McDonalds on campus it is absolutely chock full of teenagers trying to eat away hangovers. She thinks she sees Bellamy’s friend Wick, his face actually _in_ a burger.

Octavia stumbles back into her room at quarter past, thoroughly annoyed with herself, and gets a surprise when she sees Clarke sat at her desk, close to fully dressed. Her hair is wet and falls down her shoulders in a hundred separate waves. She has a paintbrush between her teeth and one in each hand, and is alternating quite rapidly between them. Somehow, when her mouth is clear, Clarke mumbles a quick ‘Morning, ‘Tavia’.

Octavia mumbles something in return, quite content to kick off her shoes and fall face first on her bed – she doesn’t even protest at being called ‘Tavia’. She falls asleep pretty quickly, lulled by the rhythmic sound of Clarke’s brushing.

When she wakes up for a second time the first thing she does is grope for her phone, holding it close to her face so she can see the numbers. The brightness of her screen almost blinds her, and she has to blink a lot to clear away the glare. It’s 11:21, which is a much more sensible time to be waking up on a Sunday. There’s half a dozen texts off of Monty and Jasper asking if she’s alive, and one off of Bellamy. She ignores the one off of her brother. The curtains are shut, and when she looks around she can see a glass of water and a box of painkillers on her bedside table. It’s in that moment that Octavia decides that she loves Clarke Griffin.

* * *

 

In the week that Octavia has been at college she finds out a few things about Clarke: She comes and goes at ridiculous hours, always with her sketchbook and coffee; Octavia can never predict whether or not Clarke will be in when she gets in, or if she’ll be there when Octavia wakes up; and she actually knows very little about her roommate.

All Octavia really knows that she’s Clarke Griffin, who studied pre-med at Yale for an unspecified amount of time, and then left for unspecified reasons. She knows Clarke studies Art and Art History now, and that she’s very good at drawing, but the only personal thing she knows is that the watch Clarke wears used to belong to her father.

And it’s not like Octavia hasn’t been trying to engage in conversation with her roommate, it’s just that every time she does the conversation somehow turns back onto herself and she ends up telling Clarke all sorts of shit. Like about Jasper and Monty, her brother and all of his friends. Where she lives, when her birthday is, how many sugars she takes in her coffee. It’s all pretty mundane stuff, nothing deep or emotional, but it hits her one day that Clarke could probably write several paragraphs about her and all that Octavia could say is ‘hello this is Clarke, she is blonde and my roommate’.

She doesn’t particularly want to pry, having seen Clarke react so badly to the argument with Bellamy so angrily. Octavia wants to be friends with her though, because she knows that underneath the cucumber cool and steel-plated face that Clarke has on most of the time that there _must_ be someone there. She’s caught glimpse of Clarke’s humour (punny and childish, yet also dry and very sarcastic). So Octavia makes a plan to befriend her mysterious roommate.

She spends a few minutes texting Jasper and Monty, who require very little persuasion to come over to her dorm – they’re very excited to meet Clarke because every other time they’ve been over the blonde’s been scarce. Clarke is in for once, buried under reference books and painstakingly writing out notes (her handwriting is neat and small, almost completely opposite from Octavia’s large and loopy scrawl). She looks like she’s settled in for the evening, and Octavia is wondering what it will take to pry her from the books.

The boys arrive, heralded by the sound of Jasper tripping on perfectly flat floor. He thumps on the door, one hand on his forehead. Octavia can see a lump growing underneath his fingers. Monty throws his backpack down on Octavia’s bed and whips out three clear bottle filled to the brim with moonshine. The two bottles of Peach Shine each have a label with names on them, and for some reason Monty has decided to add flair with edible orange glitter. The other bottle is the standard, which tastes like a mix between paint-stripper and vodka. Octavia’s been drinking it since she was fourteen and Monty first discovered another use for Jasper’s chemistry set. It’s still utterly terrible, having been refined several times over the years, but she thinks that her liver has developed a super human tolerance for it.

Clarke looks over with raised eyebrows, clearly amused by the two excited puppies in their room. Octavia slings an arm over each of their shoulders, scowling because she has to stand on her tip-toes because they’re both lanky bastards. They hit their growth spurt after she did and both overtook her in a matter of months.

“Clarke, this is Jasper and Monty. Guys, this is Clarke.”

Clarke smiles, but Octavia can see the caution lurking in her face. Octavia hasn’t exactly told stories that painted the two of them in the best light. She tries to make her face reassuring.

“Clarke! The girl who fought with butthead Bellamy Blake after knowing him for only a minute!” Jasper crows, stumbling over on long legs to shake her hand. Clarke looks slightly uncomfortable, but accepts to proffered palm.

“A true hero of the people!” Monty agrees loudly, grinning. He offers her a bottle of Peach Shine with her name on it, and it’s clear that Clarke knows what it is. She looks taken aback, and gives the boys such a heartfelt thank-you that they both blush to the roots of their hair.

“But you do know it’s only eight.” Clarke says, turning the bottle over to read the label. Jasper’s handwriting is even worse than Octavia’s, but the massive ‘CLARKE’ is pretty hard to miss.

“Pfft! First lesson, Clarke,” Jasper waves a finger in her face, his face solemn, “Is that it’s _never_ too early for the Monty Special.”

“Oh?” Clarke muses, now thoroughly amused by the two boys. They both nod vigorously. Her eyes flicker to Octavia, who shrugs. They were right; it was never too early for Monty’s moonshine. (Miller had once said the opposite and even Bellamy had looked at him in disgust).

“Yes. And, plus! It’s a celebration!” Monty nudges Jasper with his elbow, who blushes horribly and throws himself on Octavia’s bed. Octavia meets Clarke’s eyes, and suddenly they both grin. Failed romantic endeavours have a way of making themselves known, and Jasper was a walking disaster when it came to dealing with the fairer sex.

“A celebration?” Octavia asks simply. Clarke is unscrewing the lid of her bottle and she sniffs it carefully. Her face doesn’t screw up and her eyes don’t water. Monty and Octavia are both impressed, but Clarke makes no move to drink.

“We walked past Ninon Halvert on the way up and Jasper only fell over _after_ she’d rounded the corner.”

Octavia cups her hands around her mouth and whoops. Clarke laughs, raising her bottle and grinning. Ninon Halvert is a French student, here for the year to study English lit. She lives down the corridor, a pretty little thing with dark skin and a massive whorl of black hair. Unfortunately for Jasper, Octavia knows from a slightly drunken meet and greet that Ninon will never swing for the boy, even if he could walk by her without falling over. Clarke, however, is entirely Ninon’s type.

“Noooooo. Stop! It was terrible, I thought I was going to die. I’d die and then Ninon would laugh because I’m so pathetic. And no-one would come to my funeral because I am a stain on the family name.”

Monty snickers. “Aw, I’d come to your funeral, Jas.” He reaches out to pat his best friend’s shoulder.

“Oh, thank you, that’s so reassuring. Exactly what I needed to hear.” Jasper snipes back, his face underneath Octavia’s pillow. “I don’t even speak French! How am I supposed to make a move when I can’t even speak her goddamn language?”

“I can teach you if you want to learn.”

Three heads turn to look at Clarke, who has her Peach Shine tipped on its side and is squinting at its contents. The glitter swooshes up and down as she moves the bottle.

“You know French?” Octavia asks, somewhat stupidly. It comes out like a hybrid between a question and a statement. Clarke nods, putting down the bottle.

“Yeah. My parents had a chalet on the French side of the Alps.”

“The Alps? Fantastic. I can ask her all about skiing.” Jasper whines and buries his head back under the pillow. “’Hi Ninon. Clarke only knows words about skiing. Would you like to go skiing? Hon, hon, baguette, Eiffel tower.’”

Octavia is about to shout at Jasper for being such a dick when Clarke starts laughing, full, belly-laughs that shake her entire frame. Before long she’s trying to hold back tears as she carries on laughing. Octavia turns to Jasper in bewilderment, who is grinning widely.

“See! I _told_ everyone I’m funny! See how fucking funny I am!”

“We can drink to that!” Monty cheers, opening the moonshine and taking a gulp. Octavia takes a swig of her Peach Shine and cheers too. Clarke picker her bottle back up and brandishes it when she regains herself, her mouth wide and smiling. Her face is flushed and shiny, and there are small tracks of mascara on her cheeks. She swipes at them, still laughing.

“Holy shit, I haven’t laughed like that in ages. God.”

Octavia and the boys share grins.

“Well, the night is still young, Clarke! And I am fucking hilarious!” Jasper says, his voice loud. Octavia shushes him with one hand, and passes him Monty’s bottle with the other.

“You ready, Clarke?” Monty asks, “right now it’s either go hard or go home.”

Clarke takes that as an invitation, opening her bottle back up and taking a determined swig, her eyes never leaving Monty’s. Octavia knows how powerful (read: terrible and burning) the first drink can be, and is well and truly impressed when Clarke neither coughs, splutters, nor grimaces. The boys are too, and the cheering picks straight back up, Jasper and Monty leading the charge and downing a good inch of drink each. 

* * *

 

They’re halfway to shitfaced when Bellamy and Miller turn up. Clarke had pulled out a pack of cards from somewhere and they were trying their hardest to play snap – which was surprisingly difficult when Jasper slams his hand down every time someone puts down a card. He’s at the stage where he could either keep drinking for another few hours, or could fall asleep within the next few minutes. It’s a toss-up with Jasper.

Someone knocks on the door continuously, a steady drumming that they almost don’t notice over the bassline of the song playing. Clarke looks down at her watch and blinks.

“It’s half ten.”

Jasper is closest to the door, and it’s always amusing to watch him pull himself up and flail around. Monty helps him get to his feet, offering his friend both his shoulders and his head as support. Bellamy looks decidedly mad when the door opens. She thinks it might have something to do with the fact that when he texted her half an hour ago she’d sent back a whole line of cactus emojis and then given her phone to Clarke.

“Bellamy, my dear friend! Are you here for the festivities? And Mister Miller too! A full party!” His words are slurred, but Bellamy is practiced at understanding drunk-Jasper speak. Octavia’s brother shoulders past Jasper – very gently, not that he’d admit it – and comes to stand in the room with his hands on his hips. Octavia breaks down into serious giggle fits.

Monty had ducked his head as soon as Jasper mentioned Miller’s name, and so now was staring intently at the cards in his hand, despite not being able to see any of the numbers. Clarke nudges him, a wicked light in her eyes (Octavia may have spent a fifteen minutes once detailing the tragedy that was Nathan Miller’s ignorance). Monty shuffles away from her, his face flushing a deep pink. It’s then that Octavia remembers that she’s forgotten to tell Monty about Miller’s new beard, and when he looks over at the door for a second they’re all blessed by the sight of Monty all but swooning. Clarke throws back her head and laughs, the sound happy and drunk.

Bellamy hears the laugh and looks over in alarm. Octavia knows damn well that he hasn’t apologised yet. He turns his head, fully set on ignoring Clarke, and focuses on Octavia instead.

“O, why were you ignoring my texts?”

“Wasn’t ignoring ‘em. I sent you a cactus. Many cactuses. Cacti!” She falls on her back, laughing hysterically. “Plus – _plus_ , my friend Clarke has my phone!”

Clarke nods solemnly and pulls Octavia’s phone from her pocket. She uses her bed to stand up, then takes a moment to steady herself. She hands to phone to Bellamy, who takes it slightly hesitantly. Clarke smirks up at him, drunkenness erasing the argument she had with Bellamy as soon she’d met him. Or at least that’s what it looks like. Clarke could have a  whole master plan going on right now and Octavia sure as hell wouldn’t notice.

“Ah! Clarke and Bellamy!” Jasper shrieks. Monty looks up open mouthed, his head snapping between Bellamy and Clarke like it’s a tennis match.

“Bellamy and Clarke! You hafta apologise, Bellamy Blake.”

Octavia struggles to sit up, pointing at her brother all the while.

“ _On your knees_!”

Clarke starts laughing then, the hand that had given Bellamy Octavia’s phone moving to grip his forearm.

“Nonono, its okay, Bellamy Blake.” She covers her mouth for a second, more laughter escaping her. “Was my fault too. Uptight bitchiness runs in the family. S’okay.” She pats Bellamy’s cheek, and he can do little else than stand there and take it. Octavia launches herself up then, reaching for her brother and crashing into his side. Clarke shrieks as Bellamy stumbles, tripping away from him and landing heavily on her bed.

“Octavia!” Her brother chastises her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to keep her steady. He peers down at Clarke, who is rearranging herself on the bed. “You alright down there, princess?”

Clarke hums, finally settling in a position that leaves her on her front, her chin propped in her hands, and looking out at the chaos of the room. She smiles at Bellamy.

“I don’t mind ‘princess’. Not as bad as ‘sugartits’, or ‘Doctor Griffin’s kid’. Better than, really.” She looks over at Jasper, who is draped over Miller’s shoulder and throwing mock sexy looks at Monty. Clarke snickers. “Jaaaasper. Friend, where is my Shine?”

Jasper looks away from Monty, a hideous pout on his face, and beams back at her. “Friend, you are your own shine. You star.”

Bellamy looks utterly bewildered by what’s going on, as does Miller. Octavia takes pity on him for a second, leaning up to whisper in her brother’s ear. She isn’t very good at drunk-whispering.

“Clarke is our friend now. She’s nice. Stay and drink and she can be your friend too.”

“We can all be friends!” Jasper yells. The sound is right next to Miller’s ear, but like her brother Miller is used to dealing with drunken Jasper. He sighs and shifts Jasper so he’s holding him more securely. On the floor Monty is still gazing at his cards as if they hold the secret to the universe.

Octavia looks over at her roommate, who meets her eyes with a wide smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wasn't expecting so many nice reviews, and i'm super grateful to all of you who took the time to post one. I'll try and get the next chapter up in a few days, but school starts again after the weekend so it may take a little longer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A phone call and more arguments. Octavia really can't catch a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a little long, but it's here now, at least.  
> Have a tiny sprinkle of Minty as an apology.

Octavia isn’t sure when Bellamy and Miller decided to stay, or who made the decision that they would, but one moment Bellamy had his arm around her shoulder and the next he was chugging back some of Clarke’s Peach Shine. Alcohol was a marvellous thing. Somehow Miller ended up the dregs of a whiskey bottle that appeared in Clarke’s hand – Octavia thinks for a second that Clarke must have a portal to a shop somewhere because every time they need something it’s suddenly _there._

Clarke passes Miller the whisky with a wink and a sly smile, and no sooner is it in his hand than Clarke starts singing, loud and wobbly.

“ _We like to drink with Miller, ‘cos Miller is our mate. And when we drink with Miller, he gets it down in eight…!”_

Octavia has never heard the song before, but she gets the gist of it. She grabs Clarke’s hand and swings it, joining in with the song. Miller seems to know what’s about to happen as the bottle is quickly glued to his lips.

“ _Seven… six… five…”_

Monty and Jasper chime in now, Monty looking up at Miller like he’s the moon and stars. Octavia laughs and stumbles over the count down. Bellamy is grinning, having plonked himslef down and Clarke’s bed and splayed over it. He has his arms folded behind his head and his legs crossed at the ankles. If she wasn’t so busy clapping Octavia would’ve caught him staring at Clarke’s arse.

“ _Four…THREE…TWO…ONE!”_

Miller tips his head back to finish the drink, and when he’s finished he throws it down the floor. For a second Octavia is very glad that the dorm room has carpet. Then the cheering starts up again and the rest of the night is a blur.

 

* * *

 

Octavia has never been fond of mornings-after. She hates the taste in her mouth and the thudding behind her eyes and how whenever she moves she wants to cry. It all means that she isn’t in the best of moods when she wakes up.

She has her bed to herself, huddled beneath blankets and quilts. Her hair is quite literally everywhere, and when she sits up – slowly, so slowly – it sticks up away from her, tangled and snarled. There’s the soft sounds of people still asleep, and Jasper’s unholy snores. Octavia leans over so she can look at the floor and is greeted by the sight of a Monty-Miller-Jasper sleeping pile, a mess of entangled limbs. Jasper is hugging Miller’s leg, and Miller – somehow – has an arm curled around Monty’s chest. The sight makes Octavia smile, but it drops quickly when she looks over to Clarke’s bed and sees her all wrapped up with her brother.

Clarke is lying flat on Bellamy’s chest, one hand on his neck and the other fisted in his shirt. Bellamy has his arms wrapped around Clarke, cuddling her close. One of his hands is spread on Clarke’s lower back where her t—shirt had ridden up. They look warm and content, and as Octavia’s watching Clarke snuggles closer and Bellamy smiles in his sleep.

Octavia is pretty sure that her jaw is somewhere on the floor by the boy’s cuddle-puddle. She snags one of her pillows and sends it hurtling towards Monty’s face. Monty wakes up with a splutter, fighting off the pillow, and glares over at Octavia. Raising a finger to her lips, Octavia hushes the boy, and with her other hand she points to Clarke and Bellamy.

Monty’s jaw joins hers on the floor, and without looking away from the scene in front him he reaches out and taps Jasper till he wakes up. The movement also wakes up Miller, who is an irritatingly happy morning person. He sits up immediately, his eyes clear and bright. Octavia wants to punch him. She doesn’t though, instead pointing madly over to Clarke and Bellamy. Out of the corner of her eye she cans see that Miller still has hold of Monty, and that Monty looks very pleased about the situation.

None of them are quite sure what to do about the situation on the bed, though. Octavia’s never seen Bellamy cuddle a girl before, and everybody who knows her brother knows his sleeping habits – gone in the morning and their name forgotten. So this right now is new, and something they don’t really know how to handle. They sit still for a minute, giggling quietly. Even Jasper stays on a relatively low volume, staring at the pair with wide eyes. He catches sight of Miller and Monty still cuddled together and his eyes widen impossibly further.

They’re all saved from acting by Clarke’s phone starting to ring.

It blares to life beside her and Bellamy, belting out the first few bars of Kanye West’s _S_ _tronger_ , which Octavia could never imagine Clarke liking. Clarke all but jolts awake, her hands underneath her immediately as she rears back too scrabble for her phone. Bellamy groans and blinks, his suddenly free hands moving to cover his eyes.

Clarke jams the phone to her ears, her eyes staring dead ahead at the wall behind her bed. Her hair is even worse than Octavia’s; an absolute mess of waves, like one long, blonde knot. Octavia can see her face perfectly from where’s she’s sat.

“Raven? What the fuck are you doing? It’s, like, nine in the morning.” Her voice is thick and sleepy.

Octavia can’t hear the person on the other end of the phone, but she can see Clarke’s face morph into an irritated scowl. One thing Octavia knows about Clarke is that she _hates_ being woken up. She doesn’t have a schedule and sleeps whenever the fuck she wants to, but it’s all on Clarke’s own terms. Octavia once woke her up by mistake after shutting the door to their room a bit too hard. She can still feel the glare burning at her soul. One of Clarke’s hands is still on Bellamy, laid flat on his abdomen. Octavia finds it rather interesting that she hasn’t moved off of her brother. She looks over to Miller, raising her eyebrows. Miller grins and winks and gives her an a-okay. Monty snickers and sort of sinks into his side.

“Of course I’m still in Washington. Where the fuck else would I be? Okay, yes, I know that but – seriously, Raven? What are you even saying?”

Clarke’s face has changed from irritation to worry. Bellamy moves his hands and looks up at Clarke first, then over at Octavia. Clarke had shucked off her jeans during the night and swapped them for a tiny pair of pyjama shorts, giving the whole room a good look at her legs, from her ankles to the tops of her thighs, including Bellamy. _Especially_ Bellamy. His face flushes pink when Octavia gives him a pointed look, and he tries his best to roll his eyes and look uninterested. He’s foiled _utterly_ when Clarke’s hand on his abs clenches into a fist, pulling on his shirt. His eyes widen slightly and his nostrils flare and Octavia thinks she might wet herself. She’s trying her hardest not to laugh, and a glance at the floor tells her that the other boys are the doing the same. Jasper has almost his whole fist shoved in his mouth to keep from laughing, and Miller’s nose is buried in Monty’s hair, hiding his smile.

“Raven, be serious. It’s a forty hour drive from there to here, you don’t need to do that.” Suddenly Clarke snorts, her hand leaving Bellamy’s shirt to cover her mouth. Bellamy looks extremely relieved. “That was totally my plan. I was going to hog them all to myself and not tell you about any of the well-muscled and well-endowed men of Ark University. You genius. How ever did you figure it out? Did your electrician senses tell you?” She laughs, rolling her eyes. Then all of a sudden she stiffens, sitting straight up. Bellamy tenses underneath her.

“Hold the fuck on, Reyes!”

In a move that Octavia could never pull off on a good day, Clarke is vaulting out of Bellamy’s lap. Octavia can only watch as her roommate dashes out of the room, skirting around the pile of people on the floor, and flying out of the door.  She keeps talking as she does, though, but now it’s a pigeon mix of expletives and Spanish. Octavia blinks. She knew that Clarke knew French, but Spanish too?

The room is deadly quiet once Clarke leaves, the absence of noise strange to all of them. Heads turn slowly from the door too Bellamy, who blushes and scowls under the attention. He sits up with a huff, shoving a hand through his hair and rolling his shoulders.

“What the fuck was that, Bell?” Octavia asks, her voice scratchy from sleep and the cheering she did last night. Bellamy looks away from her almost pointedly, his eyes on the Niagara Falls poster on Clarke’s wall.

“ _That_ was Clarke on the phone to someone.” He answers snarkily. Octavia scowls.

“I think she meant before that, Bellamy, when you and Clarke were all snuggled up together like you’ve had a wild night and’ve settled in for a lazy day in bed.” Jasper grins widely, lacing his fingers behind his neck and leaning back slightly. Miller nods approvingly, his chin now resting on top of Monty’s head. Neither of them seem to notice that they’re currently cuddled up just as much as Bellamy and Clarke were. It makes Octavia’s heart flutter a little.

Bellamy looks like he wants the floor to swallow him up, but he tries to play it cool. He looks down at his hands for a few seconds and Octavia grows so impatient that she throws her other pillow at him. Years of anticipating projectiles from his baby sister has Bellamy catching the pillow and glaring over at her.

“We just fell asleep. Nothing _happened._ ” He snaps. His hands clench the pillow and there’s only a second to prepare before it sails over and catches her in the head. She swats it away, trying to out-glare her brother.

“Yeah, maybe,” Monty says quietly, “But that doesn’t mean anything. Just because nothing happened doesn’t mean that you didn’t _want_ nothing to happen.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows shut up as he looks over at Monty – who’s still nestled in Miller’s arms. The moonshine master blushes and ducks his head, suddenly realising that his statement also applies to him, painfully so. Miller doesn’t (Octavia could wax poetic for _hours_ on the ignorance that is Nathan Miller).

“I’ve known the chick all of a week, and I’ve met her _twice_. Stop reading into things, you little fuck.” Secretly, Octavia thinks that Monty’s right. She’s spent the last week listening half-heartedly to Bellamy drone on and on about Clarke – something he barely ever does.

There’s a bang on the door.

“ _I don’t have my stupid fucking key_.” Clarke’s voice is muffled slightly by the inch-and-a-half of plywood between them, but Octavia can hear how angry the woman is. It’s not the same sort of anger as when Clarke and the blow out with Bellamy, but she can tell that Clarke is really fucking miffed.

Octavia looks sort of helplessly at Bellamy, whose the only on free of entanglements of any kind (Well, Jasper is free but he’s useless, and Octavia just really doesn’t want to move.)

The door is barely open when Clarke shoves in, a fierce scowl on her face. Bellamy is taken by surprise, and Octavia really hates the way _that_ smirk settles on his face after a second of looking at a wound up Clarke. Clarke barely looks at anyone and goes straight for her bed, chucking down her phone so hard it bounces off of the bed and flies towards the wall. She starts throwing the quilt off of her bed and rummaging about. She’s also muttering to herself, which Octavia is going to put on the ‘not good’ list.

“Where the fuck did I put my pants? Where the fuck…?”

“What’s the matter, princess, did you forget there’s no maids here?”

Octavia’s jaw drops again. She has no fucking clue what game her brother is trying to pull, but she knows that right now it _really_ won’t fly. Clarke spins around so fast she must have gotten some kind of whiplash, and stares Bellamy down with a snarl on her face (it should be an ugly expression, but Clarke still looks like a princess. Octavia hates her brother for picking such a fitting nickname).

“You wanna do this now, Bellamy? Are you fucking serious? Because I will. I so _._ Fucking _._ Will.”

Bellamy grins. He’s always thrived on arguments and fights, on conflict; it’s one of the most fucked up things about him. On the floor the boys are slowly inching towards Octavia’s side of the room. Miller’s face is a mixture of a smirk and exasperation.

“I see you’re right about uptight bitchiness running in the family. Christ, this is so fucking easy.” Bellamy laughs and Octavia wants to smother herself with her pillow. Bellamy seems to forget that Clarke is her _roommate_ , and that Octavia has to live with her. Something that will be drastically easier if Bellamy kept to his-damn-self.

“And I see Octavia’s right about you being such a dick. For fucks sake, what is _wrong_ with you? This was settled. Done. And you’re start it up again? You arrogant, self-centred, _conceited_ son of a bitch!”

Octavia shrinks into her bed when Clarke throws her name at Bellamy, but her brother’s so invested in his argument he doesn’t even notice. The boys actually stand in little half crouches and propel themselves onto her bed, huddling with her as they watch the explosion that’s about to happen warily.

Clarke’s hands are in tight fists, and Bellamy is practically vibrating with energy. His grin turns nasty. Right now is usually where someone jumps into the fight, to stop Bellamy from either going to jail or a morgue, but Miller’s hand is clamped around her shoulder and he shakes his head in a firm no. His lips twitch into a miniscule smile.

‘Let them work it out.’ He mouths to her. Octavia doesn’t understand boys.

“Arrogant _and_ conceited. You reaching into your little princess Yale dictionary for those, huh? C’mon, you must have something better than that. Didn’t they teach you to fight at prep school?”

“No, but they did teach me basic fucking manners! What is your fucking _damage_ , Bellamy? Not enough attention? Daddy didn’t love you? I don’t _give_ a fuck. Probably _no one_ gives a fuck! Is that why you’re such a dick? Trying to make yourself feel better?” Clarke seethes, stepping closer to him. She’s almost a foot shorter, yet she keeps direct eye contact with him.

Octavia can feel the argument reaching a head. Clarke won’t know it, but the daddy argument will have struck a severe nerve with Bellamy. The only worse things she could have done was to talk shit about Octavia or their mother. Bellamy’s scowl is a fierce thing to behold, but Clarke doesn’t even waver.

“Do you think you’re brave? A brave princess, leaving everything behind to set up all the way in our little town. Are your friends back home, cheering you on because you’re following your _heart_?” Bellamy laughs. “Guess what, _princess_ , nobody gives a shit about you either. Your parents probably deny they have a daughter, your mom doesn’t go to club lunches and your father shifts the conversa-”

No one expects the punch Clarke throws. Least of all Bellamy.

It catches his jaw and sends him sprawling to the floor. In the same second Clarke’s phone starts up again, blaring the Kanye song. Clarke’s face has twisted into something severe and utterly cold. Monty is shaking by Miller’s side, and she thinks that Jasper may have just wet himself.

Clarke throws herself to where her phone landed, apparently finding her jeans at the same time. She throws them over her shoulder. She glances over at Octavia, who isn’t quite sure what to feel and whose side to be on. Bellamy is frozen on the floor, a hand clapped to his jaw. She knows that had Clarke been a boy, he’d had dived on her and started punching by now. But, like the rest of them, he isn’t quite sure how to deal with Clarke’s quiet fury.

Clarke gives her a look that could be considered regretful, then she’s at the doorway, stooping to grab her shoes and then she’s out the door, leaving it wide open behind her.

* * *

 

It takes a few seconds of stilted silence, but Octavia propels herself into action. She has to fight her way out of the blankets and from underneath Miller’s hand, but once she’s clear she’s at Bellamy’s side in an instant. He’s looking out of the door with a blank face, and Octavia doesn’t even want to make a guess at what’s going on inside his head.

She takes her brothers face in her hands – and maybe her grip is a little harsher than is strictly needed – and turns his head so she can see where Clarke landed her hit. The skin of his jaw is already a bright cherry red and hot to the touch. There’s not much that can be done for it other than to cover it in ice. Which Octavia doesn’t have.

The silence now is even more oppressive than when Clarke left the first time. Octavia wants to slam her head against the wall. She honestly thought that her brother and Clarke could’ve been friends. After seeing them this morning, it was also entirely possible that they could’ve been more. Sure, she’s angry at Clarke – she _punched_ Octavia’s brother in the _jaw_ , and then left like she’d given him a pat on the cheek. But at the same time she realises that, as per _fucking_ usual, this is all because Bellamy picked a fight.

“You do know why little boys pull girls pigtails, right?” Miller asks casually. Monty looks up at him in horror as the Blakes turn the full force of their combined glare on Miller. The cop-to-be shrugs, reaching a hand up to play with Monty’s hair. Octavia wonders then when the hell he decided to start picking up on the thousands of hints they’ve all been dropping for the last two years. Monty shakes his head, pulling away. He grasps Jasper’s wrist and manages to get them both off the bed without anyone falling over.

“Nu-uh. We are _so_ not being here right now. We’ll see you later, O.”

He turns on his heel and flees, Jasper barely able to stutter out a goodbye as Monty rushes him away. Miller looks disappointed, his hand dropping down to his lap.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Nate? Fucking enlighten me.” People don’t use Miller’s first name unless they’re angry at him (Well, his mother calls him Nathan all the time, but that doesn’t count right now). Octavia has her hands on her hips.

She _really_ doesn’t understand boys.

Miller shrugs again, spotting his beanie at the edge of Octavia’s bed and moving to grab it. He pulls it on as he speaks.

“I was _thinking_ that Bellamy wasn’t as much as an asshole as he apparently is, and that he and Clarke could start a friendship – _like you wanted_ – with everything nice and calm and all argued out. How was I supposed to know they’d both go off like freaking volcanoes?”

“Didn’t you see them last time?”

“Christ, O, I’m sat right here.” Bellamy grumbles. He winces at the pain in his jaw. Octavia can’t feel it within her to feel pity for him. She does spot Clarke’s empty bottle of Peach Shine, though. She snatches it up and gently presses it against Bellamy’s jaw, figuring that it must at least be a little bit cool. His eyes slip close as Octavia holds it in place for him. Miller mutters something nasty under his breath.

Octavia shoots him another dirty look. Miller flops down on her bed and runs his hands over his face.

“Why _are_ you so messed, Bell? She was well into you, you could’ve steered that conversation anywhere but you drove it _right_ to her family. Didn’t you see her face last time, when you told her that she needed to ‘consult’ someone? You ever think that maybe she doesn’t _have_ someone? Maybe she left Yale because she had to, not because she chose to. Christ, Bell, I know you like to fight, but she must have gone through _something_ to pick up sticks and haul across the whole fucking country.”

No one has ever been quite so good at making her brother feel shitty than his best friend was. Bellamy’s shoulders slump and he seems to shrink within himself.

“I…I didn’t think, alright. I just saw her, so fucking worked up and ready to go. And i-” He sighs and pushes Octavia’s hands away, letting the bottle move away from him. He catches sight of the label and his face falls even further. “Fuck. I’m such a dick.”

There’s a soft _ahem_ in the doorway and Octavia realises with a start that they haven’t even shut the damn door. Talk about airing the dirty laundry in public. She gets even more of a surprise when she sees Clarke, her jeans on and a soft look on her face. She has an icepack in her hand. Clarke toys with it for a beat or two, turning it over and over in her hands. Miller is conspicuously silent, and Bellamy doesn’t have the hard look on his face that Octavia has grown to expect.

She holds it out to Octavia like an offering of peace.

Octavia takes it somewhat hesitantly, wincing as it the cold burned at her bare fingers. Clarke smiles slightly then she kneels on the floor across from Bellamy.

“I’m really, really, _really_ sorry, Bellamy. I don’t know why I let my temper get the best of me and I – I’m really fucking sorry.” Her smile is wavering and unsure. But Bellamy smiles back. It drops quickly when his jaw starts hurting even more. Octavia pushes the icepack back into Clarke’s hand.

“Hey, you’re the almost-doctor here. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Clarke laughs a little, taking the icepack easily. Shuffling forward on her knees she asks for Octavia to pass her a tissue, then wraps the icepack in it quickly and neatly. She has to lean closer to Bellamy to press it to the skin of his jaw. Her face is full of regret.

“I really am sorry, Bellamy.” She says quietly.

“It’s okay, princess.” Clarke’s eyes narrow for a second, but Bellamy raises his eyebrows and smirks. “Ah-ah, you fucking owe me, princess. I get to call you that or you’re not forgiven.”

Clarke’s laugh is small, but definitely there. “I suppose I have to agree then.”

They lapse into quiet, leaving Octavia stood there. She really has no idea what to do. Both her brother and the girl sat in front of him are so freaking weird. She looks over at Miller, whose face probably matches her own expression of incredulity.

“Who was on the phone, princess?” Clarke stiffens slightly, her hand stilling from where it had been moving the icepack slowly over Bellamy’s jaw. “You punched me in the jaw.” He says petulantly.

The icepack starts moving again and Clarke snorts. “You best not hold this over me forever, Bellamy Blake.” She sighs then, and it sounds tired. “My friend is moving colleges. She’s coming across to Ark U.”

“You were mad about that?” Octavia wants to pull the words back into her mouth. She isn’t sure what the hell the calm that seems to have settled on them is, but she really doesn’t want to risk it and have Clarke swinging for _her_ instead. Clarke just nods.

“She’s at Princeton with full military scholarship.”

“So it’s alright for you, but not for others?” Bellamy asks, his voice low. Octavia knows that he isn’t trying to start another fight, but god damn, he isn’t very good at choosing his words. Clarke doesn’t react, her eyes firmly on Bellamy’s jaw.

“Not to sound…crude, but I can afford it. Raven’s brilliant, absolutely brilliant. If the army hadn’t’ve snapped her up out of high school then something else would, but if she loses the scholarship she’s fucked.”

“You’re honestly mad because she was going to lose a scholarship?” Bellamy blinks and Clarke shakes her head, her eyes still fixed on the icepack.

“There’s also the fact that she had one leg and wants to drive eight-thousand miles.”

“What, really?”

“Well, basically. But not really? Raven has a bum knee. It was torn during a training exercise and it never really recovered. She needs crutches most of the time.”

Bellamy gives a low whistle. “Hot damn.”

“Yeah. She’s so damn mulish, though. And she winds me up so fucking much!” Clarke smirks lightly, “She’s kind of like you, really. Tall, tanned, and stubborn as fuck.” She looks down at her watch. “Ah, hell. I have a class in fifteen.”

She stands up after taking one of Bellamy’s hands and using it to hold the icepack in place.

“Keep it there for as long as you can bear. It should keep the swelling down, but you’ll have one hell of a bruise. Sorry.” Clarke finishes sheepishly. She heads towards her desk and Octavia is amazed that she now knows two people with sappy hearts and ridiculous mood-swings. “I’m really, really sorry, Bellamy. Really, really.”

“I know! Christ, princess, fuck off to class.” Bellamy grins up at Octavia’s roommate cheekily, who smiles back in earnest. She disappears after throwing on another few layers, stuffing her feet into a pair of boots, and clutching her book bag and her sketch book.

Miller barely waits until she’s out of the door before he speaks.

“D’you reckon that’s what their sex will be like?”

Bellamy flushes a deep red and Octavia wonder how the hell this is her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh, yeah. so that happened.  
> this chapter really wasn't supposed to be this long, and Raven was supposed to appear eventually, but that just...didn't happen?  
> next one she definitley will be there, in person!
> 
> until then.  
> (also, i reached 100 kudos in two chapters. how cool is that?)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia has a few days to enjoy the calm.  
> But no more than that.

Two days since the Incident (when Clarke socked Bellamy in the jaw and everyone who wasn’t there is very sad they missed it) and life around the college is relatively calm. Classes are on, Octavia hates almost every single one of them – who knew that linguistics could be such a bitch (Octavia did. She totally _knew_ and took the stupid course anyway).

Their dorm room smells of oil paints and turpentine. It's gross and she has to keep the window open most of the time, which Clarke absolutely hates because apparently ‘September is cold’ – but then it’s all her fault anyway. Monty won’t tell her anything about Miller’s complete 180 and Jasper has apparently gone off of Ninon. It’s all small and simple stuff, but Octavia far prefers it over screaming matches.

There hasn’t been any (big) arguments, and Octavia was almost fooled into thinking that it would be smooth sailing until Christmas.

That morning she’d caught Bellamy and Clarke walking side by side through the campus and acting in a way that could almost be called civil. _Almost_. Octavia could hear them sniping at each other from twenty paces back. She didn’t know what they were arguing about, though. Bellamy had his hands thrown up in the air and Clarke walked sedately, a small smirk on her face. Octavia had hung back in the hope of them working out without any intervention – wouldn’t _that_ be a miracle – when Bellamy had made a noise that was close to a shriek and stormed off.

She’d jogged to catch up with Clarke, who was all out grinning.

“Hey, O.”

“Clarke, what was that?” Octavia asked slowly.

“I told him that _Troy_ was one of my favourite films.”

“You do know that he’s a history nerd, right? With a bachelor’s in Ancient History.”

Clarke’s face made it quite obvious that she knows that.

* * *

Clarke had offered to come with her to Bellamy’s apartment in the afternoon to drop off some things. Octavia usually takes the bus – the apartment that Bellamy shared with Miller and Murphy was close to the centre of town, five minutes or so from the campus by car. She doesn’t even have that much to take over, just a few things that her brother left lying about her dorm and other things that he’s asked for. Things that can fit into a backpack, and maybe a few things in her handbag as well.

“You don’t need to come with, Clarke. It’s only a few things. Unless you’re going to apologise?”

Clarke snorts. “Hardly. I just thought I’d offer you a lift to save you taking the bus.”

“You have a car?”

Clarke nods, already rifling through her bag for her keys. That doesn’t exactly surprise Octavia; it’s sort of settled in her head that Clarke comes from quite a bit of money. The few times she’s been able to look at the watch that Clarke wore revealed that it’s a very fancy watch. Then there was her statement the other day about her being able to afford college twice over. And just because Octavia’s always relied on public transport and lifts off of Bellamy and his friends, doesn’t mean that Clarke has. Plus there’s the fact that Clarke is almost three years older than her. Why wouldn’t she have a car?

So Octavia grins, says thank you, and lets herself be led to the where the car is parked. Clarke, as it turns out, has a beautiful Mercedes-Benz estate that probably cost a bomb - it was absolutely _massive_.

And chock-full of stuff.

Octavia had looked into the boot from the outside and basically couldn’t see anything for all the stuff inside. Like, honest to god, _stuff_. Pillows and blankets, books and boxes and folders, things and _stuff_. Octavia had sat in the front seat, twisted around so she could look over all of the things that Clarke had stuffed in it. One of the backseats was permanently folded down, so she could see into the boot. The car was almost a complete opposite from their dorm room.

Clarke had shrugged when Octavia had asked why it was so full.

“I just have a lot of things?”

“You couldn’t keep them at home?”

“I did!”

Octavia turns to look at her friend (is it too early to be calling Clarke her friend? Octavia doesn’t know) and says flatly,

“What.”

Clarke looks sheepish, her blue eyes darting from the steering wheel to the rear-view mirror as she backed the car out of its space.

“I was, um, in a bit of a rush to leave. So I went home, grabbed a few things from my flat, then basically bolted. All of this shit I kinda…accumulated.”

‘Bolted’ isn’t a good word when it comes to describing how you leave home, Octavia knows that much. ‘Bolted’ brings images of Clarke sneaking out in the dead of night with a bag over her shoulder and not looking back. She thinks for a second before asking her question, trying to phrase it as carefully as possible.

“You weren’t planning on leaving, then?”

Clarke’s mouth twists into a wry smile, and she looks over at Octavia like she knows what she’s thinking.

“Remember when I said there were several bad reasons for me leaving Yale?”

“Yeah,” Octavia nods, apparently not able to control the glance over at the back of the car.

“Yeah.” Clarke repeats. The quiet that follows isn’t uncomfortable, but Octavia is left with the feeling that she pushed a little too hard. It hadn’t felt like it, but then is used to pushing people like her brother, who could take a sledgehammer to the chest and barely budge if he doesn’t want to. Obviously Clarke Griffin is far more subtle than Bellamy Blake, which _really_ should have been easy to see.

She turns on the radio in an absence of things to do, and the screen on the dashboard comes to life in a flood of colour and dancing pixels. It tells her that there’s a CD already in, and before Octavia can do anything but nod music comes blasting out of the speakers.

Octavia has no idea what the song is, she probably wouldn’t recognise it even if she did over the sheer sound of the bassline. In an action that was pure reaction she lashed out and slammed the ‘eject’ button.

Clarke’s looking over at her now in amusement.

“You okay, O?”

“Why the fuck was it so _loud_?”

The only answer she gets is laughter. Octavia reaches to take the disk as it slides out of the stereo, and she moves it so she can read the title. Written in a sharp handwriting is ‘Clarke and Raven’s dickless road trip1’ _._

“’Dickless Road Trip’ _…_?” She echoes, furrowing her brow. “Is there a box for this?”

Clarke reaches over and snaps down Octavia’s sun visor and there’s a CD holder – bright orange with tasselled edges - with a dozen CD’s lined up neatly. Octavia slides the CD back into its space, then checks the other ones, easing them out of their slots and checking the titles. There’s Dickless Road Trip1 through 12 and nothing else.

“You went on a _dickless_ road trip?”

“Two bad break ups usually end up with something weird happening.” Clarke says in a rush, “Raven and I chose road trip. Well, I say chose. I wanted to leave and she didn’t want to be there, so… we left.”

Octavia snorts, but inside she’s clinging to the bit of information that Clarke had just given to her. A break up. A _bad_ break up.  

“You had time to make CDs?”

“Those were entirely Raven’s idea! She made them at café somewhere in…Maryland, I think? Yeah, Maryland. We stopped there for a week.”

“This is military-with-one-leg Raven, yeah?”

Clarke’s laugh could be called a giggle. She presses the back of her hand to her mouth as she turns the car around a corner.

“Oh my god. Don’t ever call her that to her face. She’ll actually kill me. But yeah, that Raven.”

“Was she the one who picked the ringtone?” Octavia remembers the sound of Kanye bouncing around the dorm room at stupid ’o’ clock in the morning quite vividly.

“I wanted it to be _Mr. Roboto,_ but she wasn’t impressed.” Clarke’s grin is wide and infectious. She asks a question about one of Octavia’s professors that has her ranting for the rest of the drive, occasionally pausing to give directions.

“Indra – because she _demands_ to be called Indra. One time a kid called her professor and he almost ended up out of the fucking window! Well, she - oh. We’re here.”

Clarke’s parallel parking is truly on point.

Her car looks ridiculously out of place between Bellamy’s old truck and Murphy’s grungy motorbike. Clarke shoulders the backpack before Octavia can say anything about it, looking at her expectantly and waiting for her to get out of the car.

There’s a passcode lock to get in the main door but Octavia has known it by heart for years. Bellamy hadn’t wanted to move out when he first started college, seeing as Octavia was only thirteen and their mother had been dead for two years. They’d fought over it for weeks, Octavia wanting for him to go and Bellamy stubbornly refusing. Eventually Sherriff Miller and his wife had swept in, offering Octavia the guest room (Octavia really wasn’t lying when she said that Miller was her second big brother). Bellamy had given in eventually, and had actually survived a year in the dorm, much to everyone’s surprise.

The second he could, though, he was trawling through the rent listings in every newspaper he got his hands on. He’d found this place, then bullied Miller and Murphy until they agreed to move in with him. Octavia doesn’t have a room there, and she didn’t ever expect one, but there’s a fold-out couch and it was made explicitly clear by all three boys that it was hers whenever she wanted. (Well, maybe not so much by Murphy, but Miller had scowled him into submission).

So the way to Bellamy’s apartment is as familiar to her as the house that she and her brother grew up in. They pass by Wick on the way up the stairs. He sighs when he sighs Octavia, heavy and melodramatic. Somehow even his moustache looks sad.

“Little Blake, how nice to see you.” Wick says, his voice low and exaggerated. Octavia snorts.

“Hey, Wick. Clarke, this is Wick, he lives in the apartment opposite Bellamy.”

Wick picks up a little at the sight of Clarke, who’s stood just below Octavia on the stairs, five foot five of petite blonde glory. Octavia thinks that Clarke looks especially good today, put together in a way that’s almost effortless. She pulls of paint-splattered skinny jeans, scruffy boots and a men’s shirt in a way that Octavia couldn’t on her best days. Of course the whole outfit is hidden under extra layers of clothing and woolly accessories, but she’s sure Wick can look around the fact.

Clarke smiles. Octavia looks at the way her face moves a little more closely to see if the smile Clarke gives Wick is different than the one that she gets. She can’t tell.

“Hi,”

Wick looks like he wants to say something else, probably a horrendously cheesy pick-up line. His moustache seems to perk up, looking a little less sad.

“What’s up, Wick? Murphy borrow your sound system without asking again?” Octavia knows that it isn’t that. The only time that’s happened Wick’s screams of hatred could be heard blocks over. Wick scowls for a second.

“You’d think that living with a cop would make him a little better behaved.” He sighs again. “No. It’s Mel. She dumped me.”

Octavia has to try really hard not to laugh. “Mel? Isn’t she, like, the third in two months?”

“Yes! I don’t know what it is about me that repulses so many women.” Wick says glumly, looking down at his hands. They’re black and worn from all the work he does without gloves. Clarke has her eyebrows raised, and there’s a pucker to her lips that means that she wants to smile.

“Well,” Octavia pats him on the shoulder solidly, “when you figure it out, make sure to tell me.”

Wick nods and moves down the stairs, and Octavia easily catches him looking back so he can stare at Clarke’s arse. She flips him off and his face turns a bright, almost glowing red.

“C’mon. One more flight of stairs.”

Octavia has her own key for the apartment, and she fishes them out as they crest the final staircase. Clarke looks a little out of breath and Octavia has to smile (maybe it’s a _little_ validating knowing that Clarke Griffin isn’t perfect). Clarke catches the expression and pulls a face at her, which leads to several moments of _really_ gross looking faces. Octavia’s still wearing one when she opens the door and walks in backwards, her eyes still on Clarke.

“Beautiful as always, O.”

Octavia whirls around at the sound of Miller’s voice. He’s sprawled out on the couch with his feet one end and his head the other. Octavia waves.

“Yeah, amazing how you don’t have a boyfriend yet.” Another voice sounds from the kitchen. Octavia rolls her eyes.

“Clarke, the creep in the kitchen is Murphy. He doesn’t have a first name because his father, _the devil_ , decided not to give him one.”

Murphy’s response is sarcastic laughter. He trudges out of the kitchen wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, an overflowing bowl of cereal in his hands. He gives Clarke a once-over, his eyebrows slanted.

“And this would be the princess, who punched Bell so hard his whole personality changed.”

“If that’s the story.” Clarke smirks, setting down the backpack on the coffee table by Miller. “He still has quite a good bruise though, doesn’t he?” She smirks up at Octavia, who snickers and smirks back.

“You really take that much pride in it, princess?” Bellamy drawls, leaning around the door to his bedroom. It’s the closest one to the front door and the communal area. Clarke grins and holds out the backpack.

“Of course I do.” She says as he walks out of his room to take it. Octavia sighs when she realises that he’s only wearing pants. She knows it’s his house and everything, but how much effort does it take to pull a top on? Clarke, however, isn’t phased in the slightest. “You ever down someone who’s a foot taller than you with one touch, Bellamy?”

Bellamy grins back at her, nearly snatching the backpack from her hands. “Don’t know anyone a foot taller than me, princess.”

“You’ll never know the feeling then.” Clarke catches his arm lightly, her grin not quite as jovial. “How _is_ the jaw, Bellamy?”

Bellamy shrugs. Octavia rolls her eyes again, moving swiftly around the couch and grabbing his face in her hands, keeping his head still so Clarke can see it. Her brother struggles away from her. Octavia tsks.

“Hold still and let the almost-doctor see you, Bell.”

“I’m not an ‘almost-doctor’, Octavia.” Clarke says as she moves closer to look at the bruise that colours a good portion of the left side of Bellamy’s jaw. Octavia steps away so Clarke can get in close, and in a second her roommate’s hands are holding Bellamy’s face very carefully, tilting it ever so slightly so she can look at the injury from different angles. The bruise is a pale purple hue, tinged blue in the middle and green on the very edges. Clarke seems to nod when she looks at it.

It’s almost comical to look at the pair of them. Clarke stands just past Bellamy’s shoulder, barely needing to move Bell’s head back to look at the bruise properly. Miller is grinning, and when Octavia raises an eyebrow at him he wiggles his own in response.

Murphy comes closer to the spectacle, munching quite happily on his Coco Pops.

“Well, you went to Yale and started to _become_ a doctor.” Miller comments from the couch, “Sounds like an almost-doctor to me.”

The almost-doctor sighs through her nose, her eyes still on Bellamy’s mark. “Have you been putting heat on it, like I told you this morning?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “I forgot everything you said before you started talking _that_ film.”

Clarke snickers at the same time they all do, bar Bellamy, who looks very put out.

“We do have it somewhere, don’t we Bellamy?” Miller asks casually. “You know, if we ever want to watch it.”

“Mm. It’s between _300_ and _Gladiator_.” Murphy adds. Bellamy makes a noise that’s close to a growl, then huffs. He pulls away from Clarke’s hands.

“I don’t know why you always do this! It’s not like I always go on about shitty cop films!”

“That’s because I don’t mind shitty cop films.” Miller says lightly, his eyes on his phone. “Because I’m not a grumpy dickhole.” Murphy hoots, and Bellamy turns his ire on his other roommate. Octavia looks over to Clarke, who’s frowning.

“You shut up, Cobra Bubbles!”

“What?” Clarke blurts, quickly ending the brewing squabble. Octavia looks away and bites her lip, scrunching her face up so she doesn’t burst out in laughter.

“Oh, um,” Bellamy reaches to scratch the back of his head, looking away from Clarke sheepishly. Octavia doesn’t miss the way that Clarke’s eyes trail over his bare chest for a second (Nor did she miss how Bellamy was trying to undress Clarke with his eyes whenever she isn’t looking. They’re both ridiculous). Miller brings his face closer to the screen of his phone. His shoulders are shaking so much Octavia’s surprised the couch isn’t shaking with him, and Murphy’s face is tinged pink and he ducks behind the curtain of his dark hair. Octavia rolls her eyes _again_.

“I’m a social worker,” Murphy says, not embarrassed by his job but by the fact that he gets called _Cobra Bubbles_.

“Cobra Bubbles.” Clarke repeats, thinking. It’s easy to spot when she realises where nickname comes from. “Oh my god, you guys are so fucking weird. Isn’t he the agent from _Lilo & Stitch_?” At the boys slightly hesitant nods Clarke scoffs. “Christ.”

“There’s been worse nicknames, over the years.” Octavia says helpfully. “You actually got off pretty lightly with ‘princess’.”

“Oh, really?” Clarke asks dryly, “And what would they be?”

“Well, there was the phase when I was ten when all Bellamy got called was Belle – with an ‘e’ on the end. I heard so many renditions of the ‘bonjour’ song that year, let me tell you.”

The haughty look drops off of Clarke’s face immediately. “That’s…beautiful. Who even came up with that?”

“Does it matter?” Bellamy asks, his face a picture of annoyance. His jaw clamps shut, and the wince that follows could’ve been seen from space. Clarke smirks.

“Hold the door open. I’ll be back up in a bit.”

“What? Where’re you going?” Octavia asks (she’s not going to admit that she panicked for a second, because she definitely _did not_. She’s still perfectly capable of getting the bus, but Clarke _promised_.).

“I have hot pads in my car. If your brother keeps them on – like I told him ­– his jaw will better in no time.”

“Hey, let’s not forget whose fault this is, princess.”

Clarke rolls her eyes as she leaves.

On the couch, Miller sits up straight and stares straight at Murphy. “See, didn’t I tell you?”

“I didn’t actually believe you till now.” Murphy replies seriously. “Bell fancies his princess.”

Bellamy scowls, “You can all fuck off.”

* * *

They only stay for five minutes or so after Clarke comes back with the hot pad, long enough for Murphy and Miller to slip some dirty jokes, and for Clarke to tell Bellamy how to use the hot pad, where to hold it, and to demand its return on pain of death. Octavia links up with her on the way down the stairs (why, she doesn’t know. But she did and Clarke didn’t punch her in the face so it’s counted as a success).

On the ride home Octavia picks _Dickless Road Trip 8_ , and is highly amused when Carrie Underwood’s _Before He Cheats_ floats out of the speakers. Clarke shrugs unapologetically.

Octavia texts Monty and Jasper on the way home, and they meet them at the car park. Jasper has a whole bunch of movies in his bag – most of which will get tossed immediately into the ‘reject’ pile. Clarke walks behind them slightly, texting away furiously on her phone. Monty saved her from walking into a lamppost and got a blinding smile in return.

That meant that Octavia was the one to open the door to dorm, and also the one to first see the woman laying on Clarke’s bed, propped up with pillows and magazine in hand. She looks up when Octavia walks in, her dark eyes completely disinterested.

“Huh. You’re not Clarke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wasn't supposed to be so...interlude-ish. but yeah, guess who the chick is!  
> (it's so obvious and i'm sorry i'm so bad at finishing chapters)
> 
> the next one should be up in a few days, and if it's not i'm sorry in advance


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Raven is met properly, and Octavia is even more weirded out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's so many brackets. i'm sorry.

Octavia stands there for a second, her mouth open inelegantly.  Behind her Monty and Jasper’s conversation stutters to a halt. (It’s either because they’ve noticed the intruder, or they’ve noticed how attractive the intruder is). She’s wearing a quilted red jacket that’s quite honestly gorgeous. Later, Octavia will probably remember the fact that she was looking over the intruder’s outfit more than the intruder and be horribly embarrassed, (but right now there's a scary, scowling woman illegally in her room, so she's not really in control of her thoughts, okay?).

“Who the fuck are you?” She says finally, her voice perilously close to a squeak. The woman on the bed looks unimpressed. Octavia barely notices Clarke push past her, but the intruder does. Her whole face lights up for a second before settling back into a perfect air of boredom. Clarke isn’t fazed by the lacklustre reception, considering that this intruder has _broken into_ their dorm just to see her.

“That’s my jacket, Griffin. I’ve been looking for that.”

Octavia looks at Clarke wildly. Her roommate looks just as nonplussed as the intruder. She just stands by Octavia, folds her arms loosely, puts her weight on one leg, and stares at the woman on the bed. Octavia’s not happy by any stretch of the imagination, but Clarke knows the intruder so she’s willing to stand down. Slightly. (Who’s she kidding? Stand down? If the intruder was an _actual_ intruder Octavia would be so dead. So _so_ dead.) Clarke is wearing two jackets (‘September is _cold_ , Octavia, stop fucking laughing), so Octavia doesn’t know which one the intruder wants. She's more than willing to sacrifice Clarke and both of the jackets if she can escape, though.

“You left it in my car. Did you pick the damn locks?”

“There are lost fucking empires is that car. You didn’t exactly give me a key.”

“Before I met you ‘that car’ was fucking pristine. I haven't given you a key because you’re not supposed to be here till Friday.”

“So?”

“It’s Tuesday, Raven.”

Octavia is lost for a second because of the whole _two conversations going on between two people at the same damn time_ thing, but she definitely catches Clarke calling the other woman ‘Raven’. Which, bizarrely enough, makes a lot of sense. Octavia looks the woman over again, this time looking properly at her face and features. She thinks she’s seen a picture of her one time when Clarke left her laptop open on her desk and it began cycling through her photos as a screensaver. It was of the pair of them at the Grand Canyon, sunglasses and shorts’d up, their hair spinning out wildly behind them. It’s almost difficult to see the two grinning women in the blank faced ones stood in front of her, but Octavia knows Clarke, and she can recognise the dark hair, tanned skin, and sharp features in the intruder.

“Pfft. You’re a runner, Clarke. You could be gone by Friday.”

Clarke looks highly offended, and Octavia is well and truly lost now. Yeah, she may have only known Clarke a fortnight, but she seems solid and dependable, not a ‘runner’ (But then Octavia remembers that Clarke told her only that afternoon that she dropped everything after she broke-up with someone. She doesn’t like having to constantly readjust her evaluation of her roommate).

Raven notices the look on Clarke’s face and rolls her eyes skyward. She tosses the magazine (Something about engines. As in the motors, not steam trains) away and sighs heavily.

“Dude. C’mon, don’t look so uppity. I know you’ve settled.” Now she looks faintly embarrassed. “I actually wanted to surprise you.” She says, somewhat lamely and very quietly. The admission brings a grin to Clarke’s face, and she begins to approach Raven slowly. Raven seems to know what’s about to happen, as she starts to shake her head vehemently.

“No. No, don’t do it. Griffin! I mean it, _don’t_!”

But apparently protests are useless against Clarke, as she continues on her path. It should be said, though, that Raven didn’t seem to put up a very big fight. Her shouts were half hearted at best. Octavia watches – in something like horror and amusement – as Clarke clambers onto her bed and pins her friend into a tight hug.

“Seriously, stop! Clarke – _Clarke_! This is sexual harassment. Just because I can’t run away doesn’t mean that you can abuse me for your own amusement! Ableism!”

Clarke hums loudly, drowning out Raven quite well. (It doesn’t escape Octavia’s notice that Raven’s arms are around Clarke as well, and that she’s holding on almost as tightly). Raven catches Octavia’s eye over Clarke’s head. She tuts and looks down at Clarke, seemingly able to see her under the mop of blonde hair.

“Hey, are you really going to molest me in front of your friends?”

“What? Oh.” Clarke sits up, dragging Raven with her so she’s still being hugged. Her face is flushed and happy. “Just so you know, this is definitely not assault. She loves it really.”

“Isn’t that a common line from abusers?” Jasper says. He’s looking at the spectacle with un-disguised curiosity, and then Octavia remembers that neither he nor Monty were here when Clarke came skulking back with the icepack and explained. So they don’t know who Raven Reyes is, and to them this could quite possibly be one of the weirdest things they’ve seen in quite a while – not that it isn’t for Octavia, but she has context.

Monty socks his friend in the arm. “Sorry about him. But who are you?”

Clarke grins and snuggles closer to Raven, who scowls and tries to wriggle away (again, rather half-heartedly).

“This is Raven. She’s my best friend.”

“I so am not.”

Clarke pulls back suddenly and quickly, a wounded look on her face. She stands and brushes herself down primly, turning her back to Raven completely. Raven groans.

“You serious? Clarke.” Clarke is ignoring her, turning to Octavia, Monty, and Jasper. Octavia wants to take a step back and remove herself from the madness, but it’s apparent that Clarke won’t let her.

“I take it back,” She sniffs, “Raven is not my best friend. Raven is just a woman I met last year who _lived_ with me for nine months,”

“Clarke-”

“Who took the love I gave her,”

“For fuck’s sake-”

“And offered _nothing_ in return,”

“Jesus Christ, Clarke-”

“And when I called her my best friend she refused me. Scorned me!”

Octavia is pretty sure that she’ll never understand the dynamic that these two seem to have. Which might not be a bad thing. Jasper is nodding solemnly, like he understands everything that’s happening.

“That’s pretty mean, Raven.”

Clarke nods too, reaching out to link fingers with Jasper.

“That’s Raven. She _is_ mean.”

Raven turns a dead-eyed glare onto the boy, making him shift nervously and look away. Monty smirks down at his shoes. Clarke turns her head and stares her friend down, eyebrows raised and the corners of her lips pointing down. Finally Raven sighs again, a great heaving thing that slumps her whole frame.

“Fine. Fine! Clarke, you are undeniably my best friend and I love so much my head will explode. Please shut up.”

“Hah!” Clarke grins victoriously, punching the air. “Okay, so Raven, this is Monty Green and Jasper Jordan, and the quiet, traumatised looking one is Octavia, my roommate.” She gestures to each one in turn, and Octavia tries not to be too offended by her description. “Meet Raven Reyes, _my best friend_.”

Jasper and Monty beam (sometimes it hurts to look at them; they’re like little balls of pure sunshine). Raven waves sullenly. Octavia knows then that if this grumpy, fractious woman (who really is as similar to Bellamy as Clarke had alluded) can be called Clarke’s best friend, then surely she can work her way up to becoming just a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, yeah so that was pretty short. i'm busy all weekend tho (i hate coursework with every fibre of my being) so i thought i'd give you a chapter to carry you all over until i can get back to writing. the next, once i've done it, will be up sometime next week, featuring raven meeting bellamy & co.  
> thanks again for the nice comments and support, it means the world <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia gets to know Raven a little better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've literally just remembered that the drinking age in the US is 21, not 18, which makes trainee cop miller's actions terrible and probably illlegal. so for the sake of this fic we're all going to pretend that the legal age is 18 so mills and bell don't go to jail for supplying minors/enabling or whatever.  
> now would also be a good time to point out that the closest i've ever been to an american college is through my tv, so please don't hesitate to tell me about any mistakes i make on that front.

Octavia wouldn’t’ve thought it, but compared to Clarke, Raven’s practically an open book. She tells Octavia where she’s from (‘a shitty neighbourhood just outside Phoenix. Do yourself a favour and don’t ever visit’) what kind of car she drives (‘I used to have a sweet little red truck, but then I fucked my knee up so I take the bus’). Octavia even manages to find out her favourite flavour of ice cream (‘chocolate, duh. Not like Clarke – the freak likes it _orange_ flavoured.’)

Raven and Clarke have several very intense conversations using only their faces and the odd huff or noise of disagreement. It’s like watching Bellamy and Miller, but with less glowering. Octavia’s guess is that Clarke’s still annoyed that Raven turned up unannounced. After the final stare-off Raven actually flapped a hand.

“Leave it, Griffin. I’m here now, you love me, so fucking deal with it.”

“Did you drive, though?”

“Do I look stupid to you? Honest to god, Clarke.”

Everything was much more friendly after that. Raven warms up to them as quickly as Clarke did, and although her personality is a bit more abrasive than Octavia’s used to (Clarke was right about Raven and Bellamy being similar, holy _fuck_ , when those two meet they’ll either be best friends immediately, or try and stab each other’s eyes out) but she thinks that if she manages to work Clarke into the friend-zone then Raven will probably fall into it as well. Probably grudgingly and making snide comments, but Octavia can definitely see them all ending up friends (she wonders then when she got so obsessed with becoming Clarke’s friend. Perhaps it’s the mystery. Or maybe it’s because she’s never had a proper female friend so she’s willing to jump at the chance now. Introspection has never really been her thing.)

All in all, the afternoon is fairly productive for information gathering. Monty eventually gets fed up and orders pizza whilst Clarke and Raven are arguing the merits of orange ice cream. Octavia has never tried it, and honestly she never wants to if it lands her in the middle of that argument. Raven hasn’t left her spot on Clarke’s bed, all stretched out like Lady Muck. Clarke is sitting with her back against the wall and out of the way of Raven’s legs, sometimes flipping through Raven’s magazine idly. And now that she’s looking out for them, Octavia can see Raven’s crutches leaning against the wall. (Raven had caught her looking and laughed. ‘Hey, don’t look so sad. Not like you’re the one who can’t walk without ‘em.’)

Raven absolutely _drenches_ her slices of pizza in hot-sauce. Jasper looks openly horrified.

“Dude, don’t knock it. Just because you’re milky heritage can’t handle it.” Raven sticks her tongue out then shovels the food into her mouth. Clarke rolls her eyes and mock-punches her friend in the shoulder.

“You’ve literally just gotten here. Play nice.”

To top the afternoon off, once most of the pizza has been demolished, Monty pulls several little ziplock bags of brownies out of his backpack and brandished them proudly. Octavia snorts. Monty’s brownies are almost as famous (and fun) as his moonshine.

“How did you even make them?”

Monty wiggles his eyebrows.

“I made a friend in the cleaning staff who lent me his key to the kitchens.”

Clarke holds her hand out for a bag of brownies and sniffs them suspiciously. Her eyebrows raise for a second, surprise flickering across her face. It’s replaced by amazement.

“You made a ‘friend’ and managed to wangle your way into the kitchens after-hours to make pot brownies.” She says slowly, sounding mystified. “You have an illegal still in your bathroom. You fancy a _cop,_ Monty. Isn’t this all a little counter-productive?” Clarke looks down at the brownies again, poking them through the bag. Raven looks impressed.

Jasper guffaws and slings his arm around Monty’s neck. “Our little puddin’s a soft-core criminal. No convictions or anything. Officer Miller can still be seen in public with him.”

Octavia rolls over, moving from lying flat on her back to her side, propping herself up with an elbow. She narrows her eyes at Monty.

“You ever gonna tell us what the fuck that was the other day?”

Monty takes a bite of brownie and shrugs. Jasper squints at him, withdrawing his arm. The boys are both sat on the floor by the pile of brownies, so it’s easy for Jasper to snag a square and stand up. He takes a step back, and soon he’s stood far enough back that everyone in the room is facing Monty in a loose semi-circle. He gestures wildly with the brownie e, and Octavia fears she might end up with it in her hair.

“Yeah, you haven’t even told me! _Me_! Miller was hanging onto you like a baby koala!” Jasper whines.

“Dude, it’s not like –”

“Not like you were totally into it?” Clarke says dryly. Octavia looks over to her; Clarke’s tossed the magazine away, her elbows on her knees and staring at Monty with that level (creepy and slightly terrifying) gaze she has. Raven makes an ‘ooh’ noise and sits up too.

“What happened, did you fuck him?” She asks, a wide grin on her face. She glances over to Octavia for a second. “Who’s ‘him’, by the way? Miller, was it?”

Jasper nods distractedly.

“Soon-to-be Officer Miller.” Then he stops dead in his tracks, his eyes wide, “Wait, _did_ you fuck him, Monty?” Monty barely has time to answer before Jasper wails. “You did! Oh my god, you completed Operation Minty and didn’t even tell us! Didn’t even tell _me_! How could you do this to me? Your _best friend_! Now I know how Clarke feels.”

 Monty jumps up and slams a hand over his best friend’s mouth. Octavia’s jaw drops, and she scrambles to sit up properly, leaning forward. Raven and Clarke are both wearing large smirks, glancing between themselves with their eyebrows raised.

“You _banged_ Miller? You banged _Miller_! Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Jasper - _Octavia_ , for fuck sake, _shut up_. I didn’t fuck him!”

“Oh,” Octavia can feel herself deflate, and she can see Jasper visibly wilt. He pulls back from Monty and shakes his head.

“Well that’s disappointing.” He takes a conciliatory bite of his brownie.

“Oh, come on! How could I have had sex with him? We were in the same room all damn night. Bellamy and Clarke are more likely to have had sex. Didn’t you see _them_?”

Raven turns her head to leer at Clarke, who shrugs. They lived together for nine months, Raven’s probably used to hearing worse about Clarke (Octavia will one day be queen of all the gossip, take her word for it).

Jasper waves a hand. “They’re not two years in the making.”

“We didn’t, by the way. If anyone wants to know.” Clarke says lightly. Jasper ignores her and soldiers on.

“So, Operation Minty is still in effect?”

“Minty?” Raven asks, her eyebrows arched. Octavia takes a second to admire how sharp they are. “Is there a dentist involved or something? A toothbrush? Oh, god, that sounds revolting.”

Octavia grins. “No, it’s their ship name.”

“What.” Raven says, flat as you can get. Even her eyebrows are close to a straight line across her forehead. “ _Ship name_.”

Monty looks very embarrassed. His round cheeks are flooded with colour and he’s fidgeting with the hem of his top.

“Jasper came up with it years ago. It’s a cross between ‘Monty’ and ‘Miller’.”

“Dude, that’s so sad.”

“Hey!” Jasper protests, “That took time and _effort_. Many English lessons were spent in thought.” He says, sniffing.

“It was the only one that sounded like an actually thing and not just a few syllables.” Octavia confides. Jasper nods.

“I’ve already come up with Bellamy and Clarke’s.” Jasper says. Clarke chokes on her brownie.

“You have?” Octavia asks. She’s usually involved when the two boys conspire (she’s instrumental in Operation Minty). Monty nods, relieved that the attention is off him for the time being. Octavia gives him a pointed look so he knows that he hasn’t escaped quite yet. His cheeks flare red again and he ducks his head.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Clarke demands, her airways clear. Her face is screwed up in disbelief.

Jasper’s grin is wide and cheeky.

“Have you _seen_ the two of you together? It’s magic. It’s gonna happen.”

“Do I get a _choice_ in this? I’ve met him twice!” Clarke looks put out. Octavia is struggling not to laugh. Raven seems just as amused as Octavia feels, but with an edge of confusion.

“Hang on, slow down. Who’s Bellamy? Is he your age - because that would totally be cradle snatching.”

 “Bellamy’s my brother.” Octavia supplies. Raven turns to her, the smirk back in place.

“You have no problem with your friends setting up your brother and your roommate?”

“Setting up! When did this happen?”

Octavia ignores Clarke. She thinks for a second. She knows that none of this is anywhere near serious, but god is it funny to see Clarke so wound up (Octavia takes a moment to pray that this time Clarke doesn’t punch anyone. There still isn’t an icepack in the dorm room).

“Well, their children would be beautiful. Just imagine them,”

“Oh,” Monty says, “I can see blonde hair but Bellamy’s freckles.”

“See. It’d be worth it.” Octavia smiles. Her face is honestly starting to hurt.

“Octavia _no_.”

“Cleramy.” Jasper pronounces carefully. Raven shakes her head, her ponytail flying. Her mouth turns down in distaste.

“What? No. That sounds like celery.”

Jasper looks hurt, and is quiet for a few beats, chewing on his brownie thoughtfully.

“Clarmke?”

Monty’s nose scrunches up. “That sound so weird. Like a German STD.”

Jasper sighs. “I don’t see anyone else coming up with anything.”

Clarke is looking between them all wildly.

“Bell…Clarke? Bellarke?” Raven says after a second.

“There’s rules against this!” Clarke protests, “Surely there’s rules against this. You can’t just – _no._ ”

She carries on shouting whilst everyone bursts into laughter. It only gets louder when she tries to flip the conversation back around to Monty and Miller. Clarke scowls. Next to her Raven is snickering and making a heart with her fingers. Jasper picks up on it and starts singing the K-I-S-S-I-N-G song about Clarke and Bellamy. Clarke still has the bag of brownies and (in what can only be described as a moment of madness) sends one sailing towards Jasper. It hits his face with a wet ‘smack’ and sticks, sliding only a few centimetres. The laughter dries up as they all stare between Clarke and Jasper in shock. Raven’s hand is covering her eyes and her shoulders are still shaking.

Jasper looks outraged. Clarke’s eyes are so wide there’s a real danger that they might fall out.

“That was good brownie.” He says quietly, scraping the chocolaty goo off of his face.

“Oh, god, Jasper, I’m so sor-”

Clarke shrieks when a chocolate projectile hits her square in the chest. Jasper is grinning, wide and proud.

“Oh, dude, my jacket,” Raven whines, having peeked through her fingers at the sound of the impact. Clarke looks down in shock, her fingers already moving to scoop the brownie mess off. Jasper takes a step back and holds his hands up in surrender.

“Fairs fair, Clarke.”

Clarke coughs lightly, her cheeks turning a delicate pink. It was good job that she had her shirt buttoned all the way up or she’d have chocolate all over skin, which would probably be very uncomfortable. Raven loses the battle to keep her laughter silent, and all of a sudden her low-pitched laughter is floating through the room.

Clarke springs to her feet, careful not to knock Raven’s legs.

“Right, turn around.”

“What, why what’re – oh.” Jasper’s eyes are wide as Clarke strips off her outer layers. Her fingers are on the top button of her shirt when Monty finally grasps Jasper by the arm and forcibly turns him away.

* * *

Because of his ‘ordeal’ Jasper is allowed to pick the film that they watch first. For once his taste isn’t horrible and he picks _Friend’s With Benefits._ Clarke and Raven cuddle up on Clarke’s bed again, their backs against the wall. Octavia and the boys take the floor, leaning against Clarke’s bed. Octavia’s laptop is balanced against the edge of her bed.

Monty spends most of the film alternating between rolling his eyes and texting someone (every time she tries to peek he slaps her hand and pushes her away), and Jasper is as into a film as one can get. Behind her, Octavia can hear Raven and Clarke whispering. She doesn’t hold it against them – they probably haven’t seen each other in a while, and they’re keeping it quiet.

It’s only when she stands up and walks to her desk to find a pack of crisps that she’d left there sometime in the morning that she actually listens in on what they’re saying. It’s not like she means to, but when she looks over she sees Raven pull something out of her pocket and Clarke’s face almost crumbles. Octavia stops her search in shock, her eyes firmly on Clarke.

“Why have you got that?”

“He gave it to me, before I left. I had to get some more stuff from his place and…”

“I don’t want it, Raven.” Clarke says even as she takes whatever Raven’s holding. It looks like a little model deer, but with two heads. Clarke toys with it, spinning it in her fingers. Her eyes are dark and stormy.

“I know you don’t, Clarke. It’s why I brought it,” Clarke looks at Raven in confusion. Her friend pulls another figure out of her pocket, letting it dangle between her fingers. It’s a tiny black bird on a dark chain. Clarke bites her lip. “I thought we could destroy ‘em together.” Raven suggests, “Ritualistically. Drinking and dancing an’ shit.”

Clarke nods, her eyes swimming, and Octavia has to turn away. She feels like she’s just violated both of them by just watching. She finds her crisps eventually, and settles back between Monty and Jasper. Octavia spends the rest of the night trying to force back the ugly head of curiosity that’s reared up with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up raven *will* meet the rest of the gang, i promise.  
> thanks again SO MUCH for the nice comments and all the kudos, it really does spur me on to write :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> plans are made to go out, and there is dressing up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as per, this is un-beta'd and checked by only me and my dear friend microsoft word.

By the end of the week Octavia is more than ready to go out. She’s worked hard, gone to all of her classes and gotten head-starts on most of her assignments. She _deserves_ to go out. Octavia is almost 98% sure that Clarke will agree. She’s even more sure that Raven will.

Raven is nearly always in the dorm room, sometimes even when Clarke isn’t. Octavia doesn’t even know where Raven’s room is. Or if she even has a room. It’s strange, but Octavia’s come to accept it – like most things surrounding Clarke Griffin, Raven Reyes is another curiosity. (She’s still not looking forward to her meeting Bellamy, though. BFFs or nemeses.).

Octavia has just finished her afternoon lesson (the only good thing about Indra’s classes was the TA, _hot damn_ , she never thought she’s swing for neck tattoos) and when she gets to the dorm Raven is already there, lounging on Clarke’s bed. She’s on her stomach, chewing the end of her pencil as she stares down at her work book pensively.

“Hey, Raven,”

“I hate engineers.” Raven replies (she isn’t one for pleasantries) “Son of a bitch gave me this. I have to build it,”

“Oh?” Octavia has heard a bit about Raven’s classes, not that she can ever remember the name of the course or any of the horrendously complicated details (Clarke calls her a rocket scientist, but Clarke also said that she had one leg, so…) but she knows _a lot_ about the Teaching Assistant. Not his name, or anything, but how much Raven hates him and how much she’d like to beat him with her crutches.

“I don’t even know what the fuck it’s supposed to do. Well, that’s a lie; it’s a radio. But he’s trying to fit in so many other things it’ll never work. Stupid bastard.” Raven scowls at the paper furiously, her pencil leaving her mouth to scribble across the page.

“We’re getting drunk tonight.” Octavia says idly, sitting on her bed to toe her shoes off. Raven looks up in surprise, her face creasing into a smile quite quickly.

“What’s the occasion?”

“I’m young and pretty and I’m bored?”

“That’ll do.”

Raven goes back to her work, alternating between sighing, swearing, and gouging at the paper with her pencil. Octavia thinks for a second about her own work, then screws up her face and throws herself backwards on the bed.

“S’up, Pocahontas?”

Octavia scowls at the nickname (she sang _Colours of The Wind_ once, god damn it).

“I want to go out. Not just drink.”

“Where’re you thinking?”

“The fraternities usually –”

“Ew, no. What about the town?”

Raising herself to her elbows, Octavia raises her eyebrows at the surly mechanic.

“What’s wrong with frat parties?”

Raven snorts. “The fact that you have to ask says a lot about you.” (Raven is also very blunt, but she’s hardly ever mean-spirited) “If you want a load of drunk, handsy guys to paw over you and breathe at your cleavage, go ahead.”

Octavia rolls her eyes. “God, you sound like Bellamy.”

“From what I’ve heard of the older Blake, he’s a sensible guy.”

“Clarke doesn’t think so. She hates him.”

Raven smirks and doesn’t say anything, her eyes still on her work. Octavia lies back down again, crossing her arms behind her head. She tries to make a list in her head of all the clubs in Ark, but then gets distracted by the image of Bellamy and Raven sat together at a party, dressed up to the nines and making disparaging comments about their surroundings. It’s a highly amusing scene, imaginary or no.

Clarke comes in while Octavia’s still thinking. She’s all wrapped up for winter, as per usual, with her hair in a messy bun and a ridiculously coloured scarf looped around her neck. There’s a thick streak of green across her forehead.

“Nice paint,” Raven says. “We’re going out tonight.”

“Thank you, I worked hard on it,” Clarke replies, settling down at her desk and pulling out a hand-mirror. “Where’re we going?”

“Dunno. Octavia’s thinking about it.”

Clarke, scrubbing a wet-wipe over her face, turns to Octavia. Octavia shrugs. She isn’t that up to speed on hot spots for nights out. At home, if she ever managed to escape from under Bellamy’s watchful eye and felt particularly adventurous, she dragged Monty and Jasper to frats, where the crowd is so thick that Bellamy couldn’t spot them if he tried.

“There’s the Dropship, but that’s all space-agey and shit. All asymmetrical bobs and blue lipstick. And word is that Alpha Station’s usually full of douchebags so far up their own arses it’s a wonder they can see sunlight.” She purses her lips, having exhausted her list of clubs. “Um, there’s The Ground?”

“The Ground.” Raven repeats dryly, raising her eyebrows.

“Isn’t that the place where all the servers dress in leather?” Clarke asks, looking over to Raven with a grin.

“The Grounders, yeah. Apparently it’s actually quite hard working there. Strenuous.”

Raven snorts. “Why, do they have to dance?”

“They do events.” Octavia says. She’s never actually been to The Ground, but that’s only because Bellamy had a fight with one of the bartenders a few years ago and had made her swear off it forever. Tristan must’ve graduated by now, though. Both of the women turn back to what they were doing. Octavia pulls out her phone.

“I’m asking Monty and Jasper if they want to come.”

“Go for it,” Raven drawls. All of a sudden she hurls her book across the room. It hits the wall by Clarke then drops to the floor, pieces of paper spilling out.

“Por la mierda, I _hate_ that man.”

Clarke snickers. “Bet he’s cute, though.”

“Cállate, Griffin.” Raven drops her head onto the bed and groans. Octavia is lost, but she’s used to that by now. Clarke gets to her feet and starts picking up the detritus of Raven’s work. She collects it all and shuffles it back into place, then pushes it underneath Raven’s head.

“Just leave it for now. We’ll go out later, get blindingly drunk, and things will look better in the morning.”

“Nothing will look better if that asshole’s stood in the way.” Raven mutters, and it’s the closest Octavia’s ever come to hearing her whine. Clarke pats her head consoling, then sits next to Octavia on her bed.

“You got a plan then, O?”

Octavia nods. “Jas and Monty will meet us by Bell’s building and we’ll get some food, then we’ll queue up for The Ground.”

Clarke hmms, leaning back on her elbows. “D’you want the red or the blue, Reyes?”

“Green with stripes.” Raven mumbles. Clarke laughs. “You got something to wear, O?”

She blinks, taken by surprise. Having never been out to town, Octavia hadn’t thought of what to wear. Frat parties were low slung jeans and a slutty top, she doesn’t think she owns any sort of going out dresses.

“Uh, no. I don’t think I have.”

Raven turns her head at that, her eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t think?”

“I don’t really…town.” Octavia says somewhat lamely. Raven snickers.

“Oh, dude, that means you have to brave the Stuff-Mobile.”

“Stop talking shit about my car, Reyes.” Clarke rolls her eyes. “C’mon, O. I’ve a few dresses in the car.” She stands and offers Octavia a hand up, leading her out of the door. She punches Raven on the arm lightly before they go, though.

* * *

 

“Right,” Clarke starts when they’re stood in front of her car, “Get in the back and we’ll look through.”

Octavia does as she’s told. “You also bought a wardrobe on your road-trip and stored it in your car?” She guesses. It really wouldn’t surprise her. Raven’s words about there being lost empires in Clarke’s car are entirely probable.

“Kinda?” Clarke replies, getting in the other side and perching on the folded down seat. “I felt scuzzy going out in the same outfit all the time.”

“Didn’t you wash them?” Octavia jokes, and is rewarded with a grin. Clarke leans forwards and inspects some of the boxes in the car’s trunk. It takes a few moments, but she pulls out a suit carrier. She passes it to Octavia then ducks back into the trunk.

Octavia opens the bag eagerly. The dress on top is green and covered in zigzagging black lines. Raven’s, she guesses. There are several others, in different colours and styles, but Octavia honesty has no idea which one to pick.

“Are your feet bigger than mine?” Clarke calls, her voice distant. Octavia shrugs, then realises that Clarke can’t see the action.

“I think so. I’m taller than you.”

“Shame,” Clarke says, “I have a pair of heels that would look absolutely killer on you.” She pulls back out of the trunk with another suit carrier, and dragging quite a few shoe boxes. She hands the bag to Octavia then wiggles out of the car backwards, keeping tight hold of all the shoe boxes. Octavia follows suit, handling the two backs easily.

Until her phone buzzes in her pocket, of course, and she has to juggle the bags around to reach it. It’s a text from Monty.

**Was talking to Nathan and bell heard. He’s coming 2. & murphy**

Octavia scowls down at her phone.

 **I said no, but Nathan said sure** (this was followed by a side-eyes emoji. Monty loves emojis as much as Octavia does)

_Nathan? ;)))))_

**Don’t start**

_I’ll start what I want. F u._

“Hey,” Octavia’s head snaps up, and she realises that she’s stopped moving. Clarke does not look happy under that many shoes.

“Oh shit, sorry, Clarke.” She does an awkward half jog to catch up. “Bad news. Bellamy overheard Miller and Monty, so now we have a whole party.”

“Why’s that a bad thing?” Clarke throws her a quizzical glance over her shoulder. Octavia narrows her eyes.

“I thought you didn’t like my brother.”

“I don’t _not_ like him. He just winds me up. I’m sure it’ll be fine, O.” Clarke shrugs as much as she can whilst being weighed down by shoes. She really doesn’t look that bothered. But then the three out of four times they’ve met (that Octavia has seen) they’ve had an argument on some sort of scale. She isn’t sure what a dark club and alcohol will do them.

* * *

 

When they get back to the dorm Octavia sends a flurry of texts to Bellamy.

_Hey_

_Hey_

_Big brother_

_Bellamy_

_Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey_

**What**

_Are u coming out with us tonight?_

**Yeah**

_WHY_

**Rude**

_Srsly Bell, I don’t want u and Clarke to have another fight. I LIKE clarke_

**You don’t like me? Super rude**

**Then we won’t fight. stop stressing, O**

**You can have the living room?**

_Fight her and I’ll end you. See you later xoxo_

Octavia relays the news to Raven, and adds in the bit about them staying at Bellamy’s apartment.

“It’s literally walking distance and it means we don’t have to get a cab there and back.”

Raven shrugs. “Whatever, as long as I don’t have to walk,”

Octavia makes a noise in her throat. “Hey, how’s tonight gonna work for you, anyway?”

“The green dress is long enough that I can wear that ugly-ass brace. Don’t count on me dancing, though.”

Clarke interrupts their conversation by dumping the shoe boxes on the floor then holding out her hands for the suit carriers. She opens one with a flourish, pulling out each dress and lying them on Octavia’s bed.

“Oh, go for red, Griffin.” Raven says. She’s shifted so she’s sat up, her legs dangling over the edge of Clarke’s bed. Clarke shakes her head.

“Can’t. I broke the matching shoes, remember?”

“You broke a pair of shoes?” Octavia asks incredulously. Raven gives a whooping laugh and Clarke looks away sheepishly.

“She was smashed, caught the heel in a grid, and hit the deck.”

“Snapped the heel clean off,” Clarke adds, sounding mournful. Looking between them, Octavia finds herself, yet again, utterly amazed. Never would she have pictured Clarke traipsing around drunk and falling over. It just wasn’t an image that seemed to fit. Yet now she was hearing at as truth.

“But, anyway,” Coughing, Clarke starts in the other suit bag. “I’m thinking the black and orange for O.”

“Won’t it be a little short?”

“That’s the point.” The women share grins.

Thus started several hours of merciless prep work. Clarke bullied her into the dress (which was absolutely gorgeous and floaty and wow) and then started on her hair. Raven disappeared for half an hour then reappeared sans crutches but with a metal frame around her knee. She also brought with her half a bottle of Jack, which was passed around liberally (Clarke didn’t have much, only a sip. She was driving them to Bellamy’s apartment). Raven’s make-up skills, according to Clarke, were legendary. By the time it was time to go, Octavia felt like a supermodel.

The dress she was wearing was one shouldered, made of several layers of flimsy black chiffon, and splattered with tiny orange bouquets. Her hair was pulled back from her face, quiffed and braided. She couldn’t borrow any of Clarke’s shoes, but Octavia did own a pair of plain black round-toed stilettoes.

Clarke and Raven looked absolutely killer. Raven was usually a jacket and jeans girl, with her hair perpetually up in a ponytail, so it was almost a shock to the system to see her in a dress. But it was a dress in the barest meaning of the word. ‘Green with stripes’ was basically a calf-length skirt connected to backless bra by a few strips of fabric. Her hair was out of the ponytail and left to curl naturally.

Clarke had gone for a pink body-con that clung and accentuated and should probably be illegal. If Octavia had worn it, it would’ve hung and gaped horribly in places, but Clarke Griffin was almost the definition of the word ‘curve’. (Fuck knows how Bellamy was going to keep his eyes off of her. Or how anyone else will, for that matter). The neckline barely brushed her shoulders, and Clarke twisted her hair and kept it over one shoulder.

It was when they were changing Octavia found out that both Clarke and Raven had tattoos. Not small ones, either. Raven has a massive spiral of lines across her back, the movements of the planets and a characterised sun in the middle, and a small black and white graffiti astronaut on her left forearm. Clarke’s is simpler, but not in any way subtle. She has the numbers ‘319’ printer across the back of her right shoulder, the font like a typewriter’s.

Octavia wants to ask questions badly. Clarke had covered hers up almost immediately, but Raven seems far more relaxed about hers, considering that both of hers are on show. Maybe Clarke’s is private. (Octavia tries not to focus on how cool that is, to have a permanent mark on your body that only means something to you.)

“I was gonna be an astronaut,” She explains, shrugging, “Then my knee fucked everything up. Still like space though.”

Clarke snorts, “Really? Couldn’t tell.”

Raven pulls a face at her. “Shut up, trust-fund brat.”

“Hardee-har-har. C’mon,” Clarke gives Raven a hand up, standing still for a moment whilst Raven bent her knees experimentally. Clarke’s heels propel her to a height that lets her almost tower over her friend. Octavia trumps both of them, though.

Raven limps a little on the way to the car, which she blames on the brace, and Octavia is made to sit in the middle of the back seat so she can push the front seat back as far as it possibly goes. Clarke apparently remembers the way to Bellamy’s apartment perfectly, not needing Octavia to direct her. Octavia is tipsy, she knows that, which is why she giggles when Clarke gets cut off at an intersection, instead of panicking and swearing like she normally would’ve. Raven looks back at her in amusement.

“Y’okay, Pocahontas?”

“Tip top.” That makes Raven snort and Clarke laugh.

Clarke handles the three overnight bags, and Octavia has the task of helping Raven up the stairs to the apartment. Not that she’s helping her, really. More like hovering really close because Clarke took her aside and asked her to (something about Clarke getting punched if she tried it). Raven scowls and grumbles most of the way up, pausing at every landing to glare up at the ceiling.

“Why does your brother live so far up? Why isn’t there an _elevator?_ ”

“Ray, there’s literally one more flight.” Clarke’s voice floats up from behind them. Octavia thinks she’s walking behind them in case Raven falls. Raven obviously thinks so too, as her scowl deepens.

“¡tienes dos piernas!”  She shouts back.

“So do you, you daft cow.” Clarke says cheerily. Raven looks mutinous, stomping forward and starting on the next flight of stairs. Octavia looks towards Clarke somewhat helplessly, and her roommate smiles back, something wicked in her eyes.

Raven reaches Bellamy’s door before Octavia, so she stands to the side and huffs. Octavia opens the door quickly, leaving enough space for Raven to walk past and then throw herself down on the sofa. She was about to say something about Raven making herself comfortable, when there’s a shriek from the kitchen.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Octavia!” Bellamy barrels out, and the look on his face is something of a cross between horror and amazement.

Raven’s head pops up over the back of the sofa and she grins.

“Right? She’s gonna be beating them off with a stick.” Clarke comes through the door then, nodding in agreement. Bellamy doesn’t look at her, his eyes still zeroed in on Octavia.

“What did you do to my sister, princess?” Clarke rolls her eyes and Octavia can hear Raven choking on air. She wheezes ‘princess?’ at the same time as Clarke snippily calls Octavia’s brother an old man.

“She’s eighteen, Bellamy. I think she’s allowed to dress how she likes.”

“Hang on here, Griffin, _princess?_ ” Raven’s voice is quite possibly in the highest octave Octavia’s ever heard.

“I punched him in the face and now he’s holding it over me.”

“Oh.” Raven settles down slightly. “So you’re big brother Blake, then? I’m Raven.” She sticks her hand out, and Bellamy steps closer to shake it. He catches sight of all her bare, tattooed skin and his eyes widen for a second before he tries to reign it all in with a smirk (Octavia knows that smirk. Most of the girls she went to high school with know that smirk).

“Raven?” Bellamy asks. His tone of voice isn’t the best and Octavia is suddenly having vicious flashbacks of his and Clarke’s first meeting.

“Handsome?” Raven asks, her voice mocking. Bellamy winces at that (They all had so much fun ehen they found out the meaning of his name). Raven’s laugh isn’t nasty, and it puts Bellamy at ease slightly.

“You help princess get my sister in that get-up?”

“I helped princess get Octavia into to that slamming hot dress, and did her makeup so that she can entrance people and not pay for any drinks all night, yes.” Raven nods.

The room is soon flooded with the rest of her friends, all of whom are a bit more appreciative of Octavia’s outfit than Bellamy is. Miller demands that she does a twirl and punches Murphy for leering at Raven. Jasper and Monty hoot and crowd Raven (Jasper wants to be Raven’s best friend, he’s told lots of people on many occasions), and it’s a clear, crystal cut moment when Bellamy finally deigns to look at Clarke. Octavia wishes she had her phone out.

His jaw drops first and he looks like he's just seen Angelina Jolie walk past him naked,then his eyes start to wander over Clarke, and he finishes by flicking his tongue over his bottom lip. Octavia looks away, thoroughly disgusted. She does nudge Miller, though, so he can watch instead.

“Are you quite finished, Bellamy?” Clarke asks, and it’s the most prim Octavia’s ever heard her voice. To his credit, Bellamy doesn’t blush or look away, instead leaning back slightly and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Dunno. S’that all you got?” His grin is bordering on lecherous. He makes a spinning motion with his index finger. Raven whistles.

“Keep that up all evening and see where it gets you.” Clarke replies. Octavia is sure that it’s meant to sound vaguely threatening, but the way Clarke walks past him is anything but, not with the way her hips are swaying at least. She settles on an armchair, pointedly looking away from him and at the DVD case instead. Octavia elbows her brother on her way past him, and whispers quietly to him,

“If you fuck this up I’ll hate you forever.”

At this Bellamy actually does blush, ducking his head and running a hand through his hair.

“Since when is there anything to fuck up, O?”

Octavia snickers and dances away, demanding for Clarke to move up so they can share the arm chair. She snuggles closer than she would have normally, and Clarke doesn’t actually seem to mind (which is definitely a step forward in the Griffin-Blake friendship). Monty catches Clarke’s attention then, dragging her into an argument between him and Raven over something to do with car parts (she mentally pleads that they don’t ask her; she doesn’t know anything. With cars you put the key in, turn it, and go).

Bellamy raises his eyebrows at her, so Octavia lowers her own in response. Miller catches them at it and grins his garden-variety shit-eating grin. He saunters up to Bellamy and throws an arm around his shoulders. Octavia doesn’t know what he’s saying, but it’s enough to make Bellamy go completely and utterly red-faced, which means that it must be something good.

Miller laughs and he pushes Bellamy towards their circle and raises his voice ever so slightly, so only Bellamy and Octavia can hear.

“C’mon Bell, don’t keep your princess waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Spanish is probably butchered, but thats google translates fault. It should say something along the lines of 'for fucks sake' 'shut up' and 'you have two legs'. 
> 
> thank you all again for all the kudos and comments. it really is cheering to have that many people liking what you're writing.
> 
> Next, the ground and never have i ever.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never Have I Ever and The Ground.  
> Octavai could probably have done with knowing less.

Jasper announces that the pizza is here by standing in the middle of the living room and bellowing about it. Monty walks in behind him and dumps the boxes on the coffee table, initiating pizza free-for-all.

“And as this is not a free house I expect you all to chip in.” Jasper says seriously, his hands on his hips. “Especially you, blondie. You still owe me and Monty for the brownie.”

Clarke looks away and rolls her eyes, and she uses the motion to reach for her purse and then to send it towards Jasper’s chest. She smiles sweetly when it makes contact and Jasper ‘oof’s and takes a step back. Monty snickers and turns towards Raven.

“I don’t know how much hot sauce they carry in this house, though, so you may be out of luck.”

“She hasn’t quite reached the point where she carries it in her bag.” Clarke says. Raven flips her off. Octavia stands and catches Miller’s arm, pulling him into the kitchen with her. Bellamy looks worried, so she waves at him cheerily, which probably doesn’t help in the slightest. They emerge moments later carrying eight glasses, and hand them all out. Monty got the hint and burrowed into the bag at his feet, pulling out a bottle of moonshine. Not Peach Shine, unfortunately.

Bellamy sees all of this and groans.

“Monty-”

Octavia cuts him off with a bright smile and cheerily says “Warm-up time!”

“Is there a game to this,” Raven asks as she holds out her glass for Monty to fill, “Or do we just chug?”

“Oh, a game, definitely!” Jasper shouts. He pauses for a second and takes a sip of his drink, thinking. “Never have I ever!”

Murphy scowls and slumps even further where he’s sat against the couch. “Otherwise known as ‘let’s pick on Murphy’.”

Miller is sat by him on the floor, close enough to reach out and poke Murphy’s shoulder. He rolls his eyes. “Not our fault you’re such a criminal.”

“I’m _reformed_!”

“Right, whatever, shut up.” Octavia speaks over his whines. A glance around tells her that everyone has a half-full glass (completely full would just fuck everyone up too early into the night).

“Never have I ever…” She thinks for a moments, and decides that she’ll start with something broad and simple, “Broken a bone.”

She winces when Raven tips her head back and laughs (Octavia idly wishes that she was drowned at birth; how could she have forgotten that Raven basically had her whole knee joint ripped out of place?). Raven, Clarke and all of the boys drink. The game goes around the circle, so it’s Clarke’s go next. She makes eye contact with Raven and winks. Raven doesn’t seem to mind the fact that Octavia’s round was completely inappropriate and probably triggering, and winks back.

“Never have I ever watched TV for twelve hours.” Clarke says decisively. Bellamy snorts when everyone but him and Clarke drink.

“Really?” Jasper asks, “You’ve never had a binge?” He looks between Clarke and Bellamy, who both shrug.

“Never had the time.” Bellamy replies. Clarke nods in agreement. “Med-school.” She says, waving a hand.

Miller goes next, and his grin is vicious. “Never have I ever had sex in a car.”

Murphy snort and rolls his eyes, already taking a swig of his drink. To everyone’s surprise Clarke does too. She looks around the circle defiantly. Raven whistles.

“Still haven’t forgiven you.” She says, a grin stretched across her face. Clarke’s laugh is more like an exaggerated huff of breath out of her nose.

“God, Reyes, it’s not like you saw anything.”

“Maybe not, but I can _picture_ it.” Clarke gives her a look (one that promises that her next go will be bad for Raven) and turns to look at Murphy expectantly.

Murphy says that he’s never had a pet rock, which is a ridiculous waste of a go. No one drinks and every one gives Murphy the shoulder.

Monty smiles cheekily and ‘hmm’s. “Never have I ever…been picked up by the cops.” Murphy’s eye-roll is almost audible. He drinks, but almost spits it out when Clarke and Raven do too. The grin and lean out of their seats to high-five.

“Never arrested, though.” Clarke adds. Everyone is too surprised to say anything. Bellamy looks like he’s just witnessed a crime, all wide eyed and slack-jawed. Miller nudges Octavia’s leg, as if she’s missing the flurry of expressions on her brother’s face.

“Oh come on,” Jasper starts, his voice pleading, “You _have_ to tell us!”

“Don’t think we do,” Raven smirks at him, then she turns to look at Clarke, “but then _princess_ has a habit of spilling secrets when she’s drunk, so you’ve got a chance.” Clarke laughs sarcastically.

“It’s your go, Raven.” She says dryly.

“Never have I ever dropped out of med-school!” Raven crows, barely missing a beat after Clarke had spoken, pointing a finger out at her friend.

“Hey! I’m pretty sure that’s against the rules! O?” Clarke protests, her eyebrows furrowed and mouth a moue of displeasure.

Octavia shrugs. “Fairs fair, Clarke.”

“Oh, alright then,” Clarke scoffs, “You’re going _down,_ Reyes.” Raven wiggles her eyebrows in response.

Jasper looks between the two of them, as amused as the rest of them. He looks down at his hands for moment in thought, grinning all the while.

“Ahah!” His voice is near to shriek when he finally thinks of something. “Never have I ever gotten in a fist fight.” He looks at Bellamy smugly, and then over to Murphy, who’s already downing another shot of his drink. Bellamy huffs good-naturedly and drinks. And so do Clarke and Raven (Octavia honestly doesn’t know why she’s surprised anymore. They were picked up by _the police_ ).

“I hardly think one punch counts as a fist fight, princess.” Bellamy is smirking again, one of his usual ‘look at me I’m Bellamy Blake and I’m amazing’ smirks mixed with a little bit of ‘definitely trying to impress you’. Miller disguises his laugh as a cough.

Clarke leans forward on her chair and makes direct eye contact with Bellamy.

“You know what, I’d almost forgotten about that.” She smiles back at him, and it’s curling and sharp. Monty makes a low ‘ohhh’ noise, and Murphy out and out claps. “You’re turn, Bellamy.”

For a second Bellamy looks flustered, then he manages to master himself and the smirk slips back into place.

“Never have I ever punched my roommate’s brother in the face.”

Clarke smirks even harder and drinks, tapping on her jaw where the bruise was on Bellamy's own. It was practically gone now, a faint yellow splotch against his tanned skin. Raven pulls a face. Miller looks amazed.

“Octavia?” Monty’s voice is hesitant. He looks between Clarke and Bellamy, who are practically eyeing each other up. Clarke only turns away when Raven mutters something in Spanish that has her looking offended.

“Never have I ever been on an aeroplane?”

Raven shakes her head. “Weak.” She drinks anyway, as does Clarke. The rest of them don’t, having never really left the state.

Clarke’s smile is close to vindictive. “Never have I ever fucked a postman.”

Raven’s face is stony as she drinks, and before anyone else can say anything, or Miller can have his go, Raven starts speaking.

“Never have I ever posed for a nude photoshoot!”

Clarke gasps, her hands flying to her chest.

“It is _on_. Never have I ever streaked!”

“Never have I ever fallen down the stairs at a motel!”

“Told an old woman to fuck off!”

“Drank eight jaegerbombs and thrown up on that hot guys shoes!”

“I’ve never eaten something I’m allergic to because I’m _hungry_!”

The two women are leaning forward and balancing on the edge of their seats as they shout at each other. Clarke’s face is as pink as her dress from embarrassment. Monty catches Octavia’s eyes and lifts up his hands helplessly.

“Uh, never have I ever…started a bar fight!”

“Never have I – wait what? When did I do that?” Clarke leans back suddenly, her eyebrows furrowed. Raven smirks triumphantly.

“Shreveport.”

“What, I didn’t – oh.” Clarke frowns. “I definitely didn’t _start_ the fight.”

Raven snorts. “You threw the first punch!”

Clarke brings a hand to her face as she thinks. She chews her lip.

Octavia takes the time to be absolutely stunned. The rest of her friend do similar. Murphy looks up at Bellamy and winks.

“Not quite a princess, hey, Bell?” Bellamy’s eyes are wide, but if anything he looks less shocked than he does besotted. Miller pats Octavia’s knee rapidly, close to bouncing with excitement.

“I don’t actually remember it. Did I start that fight?” Clarke asks. She does sound worried, just curious. Raven shakes her head fondly and Octavia decides it’s time to call quits on the game.

“Drink up and get your coats, it’s party time!”

As per usual, Monty and Jasper do their weird high-five (which Octavia has _never_ been allowed to participate in) and then toss their drinks back in one. Clarke stands and helps Raven to her feet, talking quietly all the while.

They troop down the stairs in a pack, and walk the streets as one too. They’re not an unusual sight for a Friday night, young people out for a night on the town. Bellamy and Murphy walk at the front, and Raven and Clarke are just behind them. (Octavia has all of a sudden developed this horrible habit of eavesdropping whenever Clarke talks to anyone that isn’t her. It’s a problem).

“So,” Raven begins, slinging an arm over Clarke’s shoulders. Clarke looks at her almost disinterestedly.

“So…?”

“You gonna explain to me why you haven’t hit that yet?” Raven asks, pointedly looking at Bellamy. Octavia completely gives up the pretence of listening to what Monty and Jasper were rambling on about.

“Because he’s my roommate’s brother. Christ.”

“Seriously?” Her voice ticks up a few octaves.

“Seriously.” Clarke replies simply.

“Can _I_ hit that?”

“My roommate’s _brother_.”

“I doubt he’d mind,” Clarke shoves Raven with her shoulder. Not hard enough to send the woman stumbling, but enough to stop her talking.

“But Octavia, _my roommate_ , probably would.”

“God, where’s Clarke, the indiscriminately free woman, gone?”

Clarke sighs.

“Shut up, Raven.”

* * *

The Ground is everything that Octavia expects it to be, and nothing like it at the same time. Dark and pounding, the music loud and thrumming. The servers really do wear leather and chains. Raven and Clarke do a trick where they walk past a bouncer and smile, stopping to talk for a second. Clarke puts a hand on his broad chest, on top of his shirt pocket, and in seconds all eight of them are being waved in.

“The hell was that, princess?” Bellamy asks indignantly. Clarke shrugs.

“I don’t like waiting.”

“How much?”

“Fifty.”

Bellamy hisses and moves to pull his wallet from his pocket. Clarke stops him quickly, smiling up at him. Bellamy jerks in surprise when she touches him.

“My treat,” She looks over the group, “Who’s coming the bar with me?”

She disappears into the crowd with Monty and Jasper at her heels. Murphy had dodged off as soon as they got through the door, and now Bellamy gets a text to say that he’d found a table. It’s right on the edge of the dancefloor, which Murphy looks less than pleased about. Bellamy still looks sour about the fact that Clarke paid for them all to get in. Or maybe it’s because he’s in a club that was once managed by his ‘nemesis’.

Raven sits down quickly, and the rest of them follow suit, shucking off their jackets. The lads are all dressed in the typical male going out ensemble, jeans and shirts. Murphy has even tidied up his dreads a little, and for once doesn’t look like he wants to punch everyone in the throat.

Bellamy has just stood to get a round in when Clarke appears out of nowhere with the two boys behind her, each of them holding a ridiculous number of shots, literally spanning every colour in the rainbow. Octavia stares at her open mouthed and Clarke winks.

“This _is_  a party, isn’t it?”

* * *

Octavia soon loses count of how many shots she’s had and of how many other drinks she’s drunk. She spends most of the time on the dancefloor, getting close to people, and Raven distracts Bellamy so she can enjoy herself properly without him barging about and ‘defending her honour’. She only sits back down when she’s thirsty. Right now she has some fruity confection that Clarke had bought for her; its pastel pink and has a tiny umbrella. Octavia doesn’t remember the name of it.

“You know,” Raven begins saying to Bellamy one time Octavia sits down, “You’re an outlier, Blake.”

“Oh?” Bellamy replies, idly, taking another gulp of his beer. (Octavia knows he loves vodka cokes as much as the next person, but he’s still pretending that he has an image to keep up).

“Mhmm.” Raven is drunk, but somehow managing to make herself look less so. It’s a skill Octavia is determined to learn. “You got into a fight with Clarke, she punched you in the face, but you didn’t fuck. That’s a first.”

Bellamy chokes on his drink, and his eyes go to Clarke, whose in the middle of the dancefloor surrounded by admirers. Octavia looks at her too, and it’s easy to see how beautiful she is in this setting. In the low light, her pink dress bright against a back drop of denim and her hair glowing when the spot lights pass over her.

“Y-yeah?” Bellamy manages, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Yeah.” Raven repeats. “It’s weird.”

Octavia shakes her head and downs the rest of her drink, really not wanting to hear this.

* * *

It’s almost midnight when Octavia spots her TA. She and Miller are waiting at the bar, and Octavia is trying to drill him on information about him and Monty. Miller is being evasive and Octavia hates it.

“But for _serious_ , Millsy, _why_? S’been so so long!”

Miller shrugs and leans on the bar top.

“It’s less…wrong now, O.”

“Why, ‘cos you’ve finally admitted you like dick?”

Miller snorts. “No, because I’m not a paedophile. Monty’s nineteen soon.”

Octavia waves her hands. “You was never a paedo, Miller. Monty _liiiiikes_ you.”

“That doesn’t really matter, O.” Miller smiles wryly. “I’m a policeman, I can’t be a creep.”

“Police officers can be creepy,” Octavia frowns. “’member officer Filch!”

“What can I get you?” A smooth voice interrupts. When she looks at the barman Octavia suddenly can’t think of anything but swirling neck tattoos and darkdark eyes. He’s undeniably gorgeous. Even Miller seems slightly affected.

Miller lists off the drinks and Octavia stares at the barman. She knows him, she’s fairly sure of it. When he comes back with the first two beverages Octavia leans slightly closer so she can look at him even more. Then it hits her.

“Oh. Lincoln.”

The barman’s head whips towards her, and Octavia tries to play it cool. She waves a little and smiles. But it’s difficult because the leather vest that he’s wearing covers very little. Miller turns to look at her too, his eyebrows almost meeting his hairline.

“He’s a TA.” Octavia gestures in Lincoln’s direction. She can feel the burn of embarrassment on the back of neck and is very glad when Miller has all of the drinks on a tray. Octavia trails after him, and risks a look back at the bar. Lincoln is looking at her (more specifically, he’s looking at her backside) and he meets her eyes for the barest second before he’s called over by another punter.

Octavia sits at the table feeling conflicted. Yes, he’s her TA, so probably out of bounds, but he’d _looked_ at her. Properly looked. She turns to ask Raven a question, but the rocket-scientist (Octavia still doesn’t know) is staring out at the dancefloor pensively. Murphy sat next to her is nodding quite seriously.

“How long, d’you reckon?” He asks, propping his chin on his hands. Miller joins the conversation quickly, passing out drinks.

“Christmas.” He guesses. Octavia has no idea what they’re talking about.

Raven’s lips twist strangely and she shakes her head. “Clarke’s holding back. I’d say Spring Break.”

Octavia is even more confused by the mention of Clarke. She shuffles closer to Raven and tries to follow her line of sight, her elbows slipping off of the table when she leans forward. Raven takes pity on her and pulls her close, using her other hand to point out a couple in the crowd.

“Whaaaat?” Octavia says. It’s not really a question, but it’s the only thing she can think of to convey her surprise. Because there, in public, right in the middle of the dancefloor, is Bellamy and Clarke. Dancing. _Together._ As she’s watching, Bellamy links his and Clarke’s fingers and holds them up, giving Clarke space to twirl around.

Miller smirks, and he snaps a picture on his phone.

* * *

Truthfully, Octavia has no idea how they get home. One moment she’s gathering her jacket and finishing her drink, and the next they’re stood outside the entrance of the Ground, shivering in the early morning cold.

She thinks that they may have gotten a taxi, but it’s all fuzzy and unremarkable. All she knows is that right now she’s sat on Bellamy’s living room floor on top of a sleeping bag. She’s scrubbing a make-up wipe over her face slowly, watching everyone else go about their business.

Raven is a giggling mess laid out on the couch, and a barefoot Clarke is struggling to take off her friends brace. Monty and Jasper each have an armchair each, and Octavia thinks idly that they’re gonna have really sore necks in the morning. Or at least Jasper is, because as she’s watching Monty struggles to his feet and holds Miller’s hand. Miller sighs and pulls Monty into his room, and Octavia can hear him loudly telling Monty to go to sleep.

She has a vague recollection that Murphy didn’t come home with them, but she knows Bellamy’s here because he just gave her a glass of water. He kisses her forehead and murmurs _goodnight_.

When she’s taken Raven’s brace off, Clarke stands up and stretches. Jasper is already dead to the world and only Raven and Octavia are the other people in the room, so apparently Clarke has no problem stripping to her underwear and pulling on her PJ’s. She helps Raven do the same. Raven is doing an impression of a human sigh-machine, grumbling every time Clarke moves her. They settle together on the folded out sofa-bed, each moving and making space in a way that makes Octavia think that they’ve shared a bed more than a few times.

Clarke leans up on her elbows for a second.

“You okay, Octavia?”

“Mhmm. M’fine, Clarkey.”

She’s still moving the make-up wipe, and when she pulls it away it’s covered in a horrible mix of her foundation and her eye shadow. Clarke snorts and flops down on the bed.

“Night, friends.” Octavia says as she settles down. She’s struggled into her pyjamas herself, and she’s pretty sure she’s wearing everything backwards, but she doesn’t much care.

“Night,” Raven mumbles back.

“Goodnight, O,” Clarke yawns.

Octavia falls asleep pretty quickly after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i finally got arounnd to replying to all you're lovely comments!
> 
> next, the consequences of meeting one of the teaching staff when you're out on a bender


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia has forgotten most of what happened last night and she's glad of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you guys watch the finale? are you as broken and bleeding about it as me? because i really am.

Sometime during the night Octavia had either been invited onto the sofa bed or decided to join Clarke and Raven on it herself, because when morning comes around she finds that she’s curled up beside them. She’s on one side of Clarke, who has one of her hands tucked behind her head and the other around Octavia. Raven’s snuggled as close as she get on her Clarke’s other side, her face resting on Clarke’s shoulder and an arm thrown across her stomach.

Octavia can hear them talking lowly in Spanish, the lilting sound of it filling the air. She yawns before she can stop herself and is quite surprised when she feels Clarke’s arm tighten around her shoulders.

“Morning’,” She mumbles, quite content to stay where she is. Her head is absolutely pounding. Octavia can’t remember when she last drank as much as she did last night, and her headache is proof. That, and the mostly fuzzy memories she has of the past twelve hours. A lot of dancing and drinks being passed to her. And a _really_ cute guy at the bar who looked at her bum. (Octavia thinks for a moment that she may have known him from somewhere else, but she can’t place him so she forgets about it).

“ _Buenos_ _días_ ,” Raven calls back, sitting up to look at Octavia. Her voice is loud and it bounces around Octavia’s head. Octavia groans and tries to tuck her head under her own body to hide from everything (it’s physically impossible and it really hurts her neck). Raven looks at her in pity. Her movement blocks a beam of sunlight that Octavia didn’t know was there, and the sudden darkness is wonder. “You really did drink a lot last night, huh?”

Octavia nods sadly. Clarke rubs her shoulders in comfort.

“Well, now you’re up, we can get your breakfast order. Mcmuffin?” Clarke asks at a much lower volume.

“Bacon and egg.”  Octavia says quietly, and with a hefty dash of self-pity. “And a hash brown, please.”

She can hear Jasper mutter something about bagels, and Monty ask quietly for pancakes and chocolate. They sound as well as she feels.

Raven snickers and rolls off of the bed, letting the sunlight flood back over Octavia. She whines and throws the duvet over her head. The bed creaks slightly when Clarke gets off, leaving Octavia alone under a pile of quilts. She can hear the sound of people moving around the apartment, keys being jingled and bags being zipped. The front door slams shut and she whimpers. It goes quiet for a little while and Octavia hopes it will stay that way, where she can be safe and cocooned in her blankets. No such luck. She gets about five minutes peace before people start to gather in the lounge.

“Dude, are you normally this pathetic?” Raven asks. Octavia can picture her lounging in one of the armchairs, a bored look on her face.

“She always is.” Comes Bellamy’s reply. Octavia can also picture the stupid smirk on _his_ face. In one smooth motion the blankets are ripped away from her, leaving her at the mercy of the sunlight and un-muffled noise.

Bellamy is indeed smirking, and Raven is on an armchair, looking relaxed and completely un-hungover. She’s out of her PJ’s and in jeans and a t-shirt, her hair back up in her customary ponytail. Monty and Jasper sit in the other armchair, clinging to each other like baby monkeys. As well as sounding, they also look as bad as she feels. Bellamy pulls her up to sitting by her wrists and hands her a glass of water. Octavia presses it to her forehead before she considers drinking it. She can feel her hair puffed up around her like she’s an angry cat.

“ _How_?” Octavia asks, blinking at Raven groggily. It makes the woman smile.

“I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you, _chica_. And I have to keep up with Clarke.” She grins cheekily.

“Clarke is a monster,” Monty whispers, his face blank. “So many shots,”

“So many,” Jasper echoes. His head is buried in Monty’s neck.

“The same monster that’s driven out with your boyfriend to get you breakfast,” Raven adds, her eyebrow arched imperiously. Monty shrugs and his head droops until it’s resting on top of Jasper’s. (They all raise their eyebrows when he doesn’t dispute the fact that Miller’s his boyfriend. Monty is too lost in his own little cloud of booze-flavoured regret to notice).

Bellamy perches on the arm of Raven’s chair. Octavia is comforted slightly by the fact that he’s at least wearing a shirt this time. Raven looks up at him, then back over Octavia and her friends. Bellamy looks a lot better than them right now. His hair’s damp and he’s got coffee rather than water. He also doesn’t have the dead-eyes that Octavia is sure she has. Raven’s crosses her legs, cradling her own coffee.

Octavia can all but feel the smug amusement leaking out of her.

“How do you even _know_ Clarke, did you meet her in jail?” Octavia asks snappishly (Mornings aren’t good for her, especially not mornings where she’s terribly hung-over and people are looking at her like she’s a child). Bellamy’s frown is instant and judging.

“Octavia,” He says sternly, like she’s back in grade school and just drawn a picture on his wallpaper (which really doesn’t improve her mood, but it startles her slightly). Raven’s smirk doesn’t waver.

“That would’ve been a better story.” She says, but her voice has a harsh edge to it. It makes Octavia shiver.

She stares down at her hands glumly, tracing the ink stamping on the back of her hand. “M’sorry.” Bellamy’s mouth twists and he keeps pulling his parent—face even as he drinks his coffee.

Raven shrugs. “We actually met because her boyfriend was also my fiancé.”

Bellamy chokes on his drink at nearly the exact second there’s a knock on the door. Octavia honestly couldn’t move if her life depended on it at that moment, and she’d be too busy staring at Raven with wide eyes even if she could. Jasper and Monty were the same, their heads both appearing and turning to face her, wearing identical looks of confusion. Their hair had tangled together while they were cuddling, so it looks like they have one dark, fluffy mop between them (the whole picture is insanely adorable).

“What?” Bellamy croaks.

The door swings open then, pushed by Murphy, who looks like he’s actually showered since last night (which is highly unusual, because when he’s not in work John Murphy is a lie-in-till-two kind of guy). Clarke is just behind him holding brown paper bags that smell delicious.

“Hey, I knocked. What gives? Oh, we found Murphy on the way home. He was doing the walk of shame.” Clarke says happily. Murphy shrugs and rolls his eyes. He mutters something under his breath that sounds like _was not_.

Miller follows her in, bags in his hands too. Murphy slinks off to his room without another noise, clapping a hand to his neck when Miller reaches out to nudge him.

“Raven…” Octavia says slowly, unsure of what to actually say beyond stuttering and pointing and making strange faces.

“Raven what?” Clarke asks, striding forward to put the breakfast on the coffee table. She starts sorting it without prompting, holding out paper parcels of food to the right people. Octavia forgets the situation briefly when Clarke passes her her hash brown and she takes the first bite. Then she’s slammed back into reality when Clarke looks at her questioningly.

“Octavia asked how we met.” Raven says, and for some reason she’s still smirking. God knows why, but she is.

“In a coffee shop.” Clarke says firmly, passing Bellamy his McMuffin. He takes it, meeting her eyes briefly. Clarke must see something in his face because she recoils and suddenly looks very put out. She turns to Raven and purses her lips, her expression almost exasperated.

“And how did you phrase it? Because when you tell it I’m always the whore.”

“Uh, that Raven’s fiancé was also your boyfriend.” Jasper volunteers around a mouthful of bagel. Next to him Monty nods slowly, careful not to increase his headache.

“See?” Clarke demands, “ _I’m_ the whore.”

“Griffin, calm down. I didn’t call you a whore.” Raven holds her hands up. Behind Clarke, Miller looks confused. He sits next to Octavia on the sofa bed.

“I guess I missed something.” He says quietly, looking between Octavia and Monty. Octavia nods.

“You don’t have to. It’s the way you tell it.” Clarke says petulantly, sorting out her own breakfast.

“I literally said one thing before you just walked in.” Raven protests. “I hadn’t gotten to the part about how we both in the dark and to not ever trust philosophy majors,” Raven leans aside and looks the three eighteen year olds in the eyes one at a time, “Seriously, they talk about peace and love, but as soon as you move too far away the only thing they think about is what’s between their legs.”

“Oh,” Octavia says dumbly. Murphy choses that moment to walk in wearing a conspicuous turtleneck. A really ugly conspicuous turtleneck. Raven blinks as he comes to stand by the couch.

“Dude,” She gestures to his top. Apparently fashion faux-pas can distract her from doling out life advice on which majors to avoid romantic entanglements with.

“Emori.” Miller says, and Octavia grins and claps her hands.

Everyone who knows Murphy knows who Emori is. The girl Murphy had been hopelessly in love with for years and years, who’d held a knife to his neck on their first date. The same girl who he fought like cats and dogs with then kissed sweetly minutes later. Octavia thinks that the longest he’d ever gone without seeing her was about a fortnight (during which he was in an even more of a foul mood than usual). Emori herself was lovely, if a little crazy. She’d been in the same ‘troubled kids’ programs as Murphy, but seemed to be having a harder time escaping what she knew. (But they all like her anyway, for Murphy’s sake if not for their own. Murphy is a much nicer person when he’s getting laid semi-regularly).

The only problem to the whole situation was that Murphy refused to ask her out officially, and what Octavia can tell, Emori isn’t too keen on putting a name to it either. Thus it’s created a strange sort of situation where they were both technically taken, but single at the same time, which led to more arguments than Octavia – or anyone else – thinks necessary given the easy fix. But whatever, she’s not here to give advice. (Not that he'd take it anyway).

 Bellamy gives him a slow clap, getting a scowl in response.

“Shut up. What was that about the princess banging Reyes’ fiancé?” Clarke kicks him in the shin.

“It was more like Raven’s fiancé was a seedy, cheating bastard.” She snaps.

“Shut the fuck up, Murphy,” Bellamy says lowly. Murphy rolls his eyes and flops down on the other side of Octavia. She uses the proximity to wallop him on the arm.

“Did Emori actually fuck out your brain this time?” Octavia bites off, hitting him again. He swats away her hands and glowers at her.

“God, it’s not my fault.”

“It’s very clearly is your fault,” Miller says simply.

“Yeah, Murphy,” Jasper teases, pulling a face. “God.” Murphy looks as if he’s about to strangle him. Octavia leans her weight onto him to keep him in place.

“To make matters clear,” Clarke says, interrupting the ‘let’s all shout at Murphy’ session and turning slowly to look at every one, “When I got with Finn I didn’t know Raven existed. I only found out when we met at his apartment.”

“And again at the coffee shop,” Raven adds with a grin.

“And again at the coffee shop,” Clarke repeats, a ghost of a smile on her face. “When Raven was fully dressed and didn’t have blood on her knuckles.”

“Why are all your stories about sex and violence?” Monty wonders aloud, holding onto a cup of coffee like it’s a lifeline (Miller had passed it to him, and Octavia is fairly sure that Monty will treasure it forever). “Literally. All of your stories you either banged them or fought them.”

Clarke and Raven look between themselves, their eyebrows shooting up. They’re silent for a few seconds. Clarke sits on the other arm of Raven’s chair heavily.

“He’s right,” Octavia says, “You literally do only punch them or sleep with them.”

Raven rolls her eyes. “We did go for weeks at a time without any sort of fighting or sex – well, not the second one. More like we went for weeks without _interesting_ things happening.”

“Plus, we haven’t even told you that many stories,” Clarke adds.

“Alright. Why did you get arrested?” Murphy asks, ready to have another person in their group of friends who was a felon. (Bellamy was too, technically, but they don’t ever speak about it.)

“Vandalism.” Raven says, at the same time Clarke says “Property damage.”

“Well, it’s basically the same thing,” Clarke says, shrugging. Raven nods.

“Aren’t you in the military?” Bellamy questions, looking down at Raven. Octavia feels herself nodding. Raven sees the question that’s around Bellamy’s actual question; how are in the military if you’ve been arrested?

“We weren’t charged, but even at the station Clarke took all the heat. So it’s not on my record.” Raven speaks like it’s no big deal. Miller leans forward slightly, tossing the balled up paper of his breakfast onto the table.

“That’s not why you were arrested, though,” He says lightly.

Raven looks away, laughing. Clarke looks faintly embarrassed.

“I threw a guy through a window.” Raven says finally.

“I may have punched someone through the same window a few minutes later.” Clarke mumbles.

Over on his chair Monty nods like he’s just had a theory confirmed. Which he has, really.

“What about the car sex?” Jasper pipes up, his face eager.

Clarke scoffs. “Okay, that’s it for the day.”

“What? Why?” Jasper looks worried, afraid he’s hurt her feelings. Octavia ducks her head so her hair hides her smile.

“Dude, she’s not going to tell you why she banged a guy in her car,” Murphy says, his face disgusted.

“Wasn’taguy,” Raven coughs. Clarke throws her hands up. (Octavia caught the words, and she’s saving them for a later date).

“Don’t you have a radio you need to build?”

“Oh, shit. Yeah, I do actually. Damn.” She pats Bellamy’s leg. “We need to leave.”

“Can’t you just tell your TA his design doesn’t work?” Octavia had been looking forward to spending the day lounging around the apartment with her friends (Raven and Clarke were definitely her friends. They shared a bed and _cuddled_ on it, which is a definite qualifier for friendship.”

Raven snorts. “I’m going to tell him that anyway. _After_ I clean the whole thing up and improve it.”

“God, just sleep with him already.” Clarke jibes, using Raven’s shoulder to stand up. “O, you coming or staying?”

Octavia blinks and wobbles her head slightly to show her indecision. Bellamy laughs.

“I can give you a ride later if you want.”

She’s about to agree when she remembers all of the assignments she still has to do. Octavia sighs.

“Better not. I have a stack this big,” she holds her hand by her chin, “with my name on it.”

“Boys?” Clarke turns to Monty and Jasper, who still look close to catatonic. Monty looks at Miller, blushes, then looks away. Jasper shrugs.

“S’pose.”

“Get your bags then.”

They spend the next ten minutes shuffling around each other trying to gather all of their things. Clarke is helping Bellamy fold up the sofa bed when Octavia darts into the bathroom, and when she gets out they’re stood in front of each other and looking exasperated.

“I literally said one thing, princess,” Bellamy snaps.

“One extremely _dickish_ thing, asswipe. God,”

“Oh, excuse me for having an opinion.”

Clarke splutters, “That was not an opinion, Bellamy. That was you exercising your right to be a dick.”

Raven catches her eye and smirks. “Bellamy said that Clarke was folding wrong.”

“No, hang on here,” Clarke says firmly, “what he actually said was ‘princess, stop being such a girl and do it properly’.”

Bellamy mutters and turns away. “Why do you always do this?”

“Do what, take offence at my gender being used as an insult?”

“For fucks sake,” Raven sighs and stands up. “Bellamy’s sorry he called you a girl, Clarke’s sorry that she’s so… I dunno. So Clarke. We leaving, or what?”

Bellamy reaches out and pushes Clarke lightly, and she responds by tapping a fist on his chest. In a matter of seconds they’re both wearing stupid grins. (It’s utterly ridiculous. _Utterly_.)

Before they leave Monty floats out of the kitchen, a dreamy smile on his face. Miller follows half a second later. It’s pretty obvious what just happened, but Miller’s wearing his best poker face.

“Hey, Bellamy’s making enchiladas on Monday, come if you want.”

Bellamy looks like this is a new piece of information to him. (Octavia can quite clearly see him giving Clarke the side eye, and thinking no one notices, a bare second before he nods).

“I have a test Tuesday, so Monday is cramming day. Sorry,” Jasper says. He’s stood up, but with his top half folded over the back of an armchair. Everyone else is apparently free.

“Booze?” Raven asks. Miller gives her look like it should be obvious. (Which it is. Raven was probably only being polite).

They finally manage to leave, Clarke herding them out like sheep. She throws a _thank you_ and a _see you later_ over her shoulder. Raven takes the stairs slowly, leaning on Jasper. Halfway down they share the landing with Wick. Octavia smiles as she always does and waves. Clarke does the same.

“You’re ‘radio’ is a piece of shit, Wick.” Raven says dryly, still walking. Jasper is tugged along with her, looking bewildered.

“My design is brilliant, Reyes. Wouldn’t expect a wrench-monkey like yourself to understand.” He calls back, stopping to grin for a second. He winks at Octavia as he takes the stairs up.

Octavia looks to Clarke for an answer, but she doesn’t have one either.

* * *

 

Monty falls asleep in the car, or at least he pretends to, and when Clarke parks up he bolts out so fast that no one has a chance to ask him about what the fuck is going on with him and Miller. Octavia does get to find out where Raven lives, though.

* * *

 

It’s only during her Sunday afternoon class does Octavia remember where she knew the stranger at the bar from. She’s absolutely mortified the moment she sets eyes on Lincoln, purposefully moving to sit down at a table in the back. He obviously knows she’s there, because when Indra asks a question Octavia can’t help but answer. Half an hour into the lesson he sits next to her, under the pretence of handing out worksheets.

Octavia can _feel_ his eyes raking over her, and it’s all she can do to keep her chin tilted upwards and her eyes ahead (she has no control over herburning cheeks or how her knees start to jangle). She’s aware, suddenly, of how her polk-dot skirt is one of her shortest ones, and the fact that her blouse is maybe a smidgeon too low cut. It doesn’t help that she let Raven do her eyeliner either. She probably looks like she dressed like this on purpose (and oh god, if he thinks that Octavia might just _die_ ).

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Lincoln smirking, and he leans closer to her so he can say quietly,

“You know, I don’t know if I prefer this or the dress,” He says, his voice low and deep (and oh god oh _god_ ). Octavia refuses to move, even though she’s sure that she probably looks like she’s about to spontaneously combust. His smirk only grows wider, and he slides her one of the worksheets. Octavia can’t fault her own manners when she mutters _thank you_.

She turns it over to see the other side, and almost faints when she does. Underneath the sheet is a coaster from The Ground, and very clearly on the back of that is a sketch that is most definitely her. Octavia gulps, and her eyes find Lincoln. He’s looking at her directly, but he’s wearing less of a smirk now. He looks almost embarrassed. Or anxious.

Octavia tries to slip the coaster into her bag discretley, and spends the rest of the lesson alternating between trying to absorb the difference between phonetics and phonology, and garnering her courage. She practises her line over and over, and when Indra dismisses the class she’s ready (maybe about 70% prepared).

Lincoln stays by Indra’s desk as the professor waves her students out by the door. Octavia walks a route that takes her past him, and stops when she’s at his side. She presses a piece of paper with her number on into his hand and says quietly before she leaves,

“You know, I do have other outfits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha, i didn't know Bell could cook either.   
> this chapter felt a bit stilted to me, so i'd be glad to hear your views on it (really, if it's terrible i can rewrite it)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia isn't sure how to go about the day when you have a serious (and likely reciprocated) crush on your TA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Linctavia date time, aw yiss!  
> This chapter is nearly all Lincoln/Octavia interaction.

Lincoln had texted her almost the minute she got out of class, and they hadn’t really stopped since. The messages are cute and flirty and every time his name pops up on her screen Octavia feels her whole body grow warm and she catches herself grinning like an idiot. Octavia wants to know everything about him (and that may sound a little creepy considering this _thing_ is at most a day old, but Lincoln has made her laugh and blush and - and maybe she’s already in a little too deep, but right now she doesn’t care). The beermat photo has moved from her bag to her pocket and she can’t help but keep a hand on it.

During the afternoon Clarke catches her smiling down at her phone she smirks and looks at knowingly. Octavia wonders briefly if she’s really that obvious, or if Clarke is using her mind powers for evil. She tries to shoo her away, and Clarke goes after a second, laughing lightly and patting Octavia’s arm.

Raven is even worse, though. She comes around late Sunday evening to watch a film, and it’s just the three of them. Octavia leaves her phone on her bed for a bare _second_ when she stands up to get a drink, which of course is when it buzzes. Raven swoops in and has it in her hand in the blink of an eye (she’s surprisingly agile for someone who constantly complains of only having one leg). Somehow she’s figured out Octavia passcode and is able to get into her phone. She reads the text out loudly and lovingly, enunciating each word perfectly – Octavia is unbelievably grateful that it’s only a short one about his work as a TA and not one of the suggestive flirty ones they’d been sending to each other half an hour earlier.

Raven finishes, making kissy noises. Clarke clasps her hands to her chest and pretends to swoon.

“Hot for teacher, eh?” Raven grins lewdly, moving her eyebrows up and down.

“Technically she’s hot for the teacher’s assistant,” Clarke says. Her eyebrows furrow for a fraction of a second, “Isn’t Lincoln the one with the neck tattoos? And a barman at The Ground?”

“Oh, man, you bagged a Grounder?” Raven sits up straighter. (How is it that Raven has been here less than a week but is already so invested in local culture?)

“I – yes, shut up.” Octavia feels her cheeks start to flame. “He started it, though.”

“Isn’t there a name for…people who are with Grounders? They have groupies, don’t they?” Clarke asks delicately, looking over Raven’s shoulder as she re-read the text. Her smile is wicked.

Raven nods, “Grounder Pounder.”

“Grounder Pounder,” Clarke echoes, sounding equal parts impressed and disgusted. “Octavia the Grounder Pounder.”

“Oh my god, guys, I am _here,_ you know - and there’s been _no_ pounding! At all. We met again this morning and I gave him my number and, and - please stop talking about this.” This is quite possibly the most mortified that Octavia has ever been in the whole of her life. Her face could probably serve as a frying pan right now. Clarke raises an eyebrow.

“When do we meet him?”

“What? Why would you-”

“To make sure he’s not an axe murderer.” Raven interrupts her with a serious look on her face. It’s different expression entirely from her usual bored indifference, something harder and firmer, and Octavia realises suddenly that Lincoln will probably be _shit-scared_ of Raven. _She’d_ probably be shit-scared of Raven if Clarke hadn’t been there the first time they’d met and sprawled all over her.

“ _Or_ ,” Clarke stresses, “Just to make sure he’s good enough for our little Octavia.” (Octavia is going to ignore how happy she is at being called _theirs_ – official recognition of friendship! – for offence at being called little. She can take care of herself, thank you very much.)

Octavia scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Well, he’s not a philosophy major.” (Immediately after she says it she wishes she hadn’t. Octavia _really_ doesn’t want to come off as a major bitch, and bringing up stuff like the two timing ex-boyfriend is usually a shitty thing to do). Luckily for her, Clarke and Raven tend to dodge ever getting offended by coating everything with humour (apart from the times that Clarke and Bellamy speak together unsupervised and Bellamy manages to cut her to the quick).

Raven claps and she and Clarke both grin. “True. You’re doing better than we did.”

“How old is he?” Clarke asks. She snatches Octavia’s phone out of Raven’s hands deftly and passes it back to her. Octavia types a reply to Lincoln then stuffs her phone back into her pocket and sits down in her space between them.

“Twenty-four.”

“Oh, so not _ancient_.” Clarke ponders, twisting her lips.

“Older than us, though.” Raven muses, then she grins – wide and sharp, and probably not meaning anything good. “He’s older than Bellamy too.”

“I’m guessing Bellamy won’t find out for quite a while, though,” Clarke says mildly, and Octavia has a sudden image of Clarke being the most terrifyingly observant mother ever.

Octavia ducks her head and mumbles something under her breath that they are never meant to hear (it’s something about parentage and bestiality. Murphy taught it to her when she was fifteen and it’s one of her favourite phrases). Clarke laughs and slings an arm around her shoulders. They settle back in to watch the film, all gathered close together to watch it off of Octavia’s laptop. The next time her phone goes off Octavia ignores it, but so do Clarke and Raven. It’s only when her phone buzzes again that the two women nudge her at almost the exact same time. Octavia pulls her phone out expecting interference, but Clarke and Raven have their eyes on the laptop. She sends Lincoln a reply, and doesn’t actually watch the rest of the film, too busy texting.

Raven leaves after the film is finished, bemoaning her life, but refusing Clarke’s offer to help her back to her room. Octavia stays up well past midnight texting him until Clarke gets pissed off by the constant vibrations and giggles, and threatens to dismember her.

* * *

Octavia’s woken up in the morning by the sound of Clarke moving about their room. She keeps her eyes shut and gropes around for her phone (the goodnight text from Lincoln is the first thing she sees when she unlocks it). It’s just gone six o’ clock.

“Clarke,” She whispers, turning so she can look out at the room. It’s still dark.

“Yeah?” Clarke whispers back, stilling her movement.

“What are you doing?” Octavia sits up and squints. Clarke is just a slightly paler shadow over by her wardrobe.

“I’m getting dressed.”

“Your classes don’t start until ten.”

Octavia can hear Clarke’s wardrobe doors shut, and she struggles to sit up as Clarke comes closer. She scrubs a hand over her eyes for a second, blinking them fiercely in hopes of making her sight adjust. Clarke stops a foot away from Octavia’s bed, a fond look on her face.

“I don’t have classes today, O. I’m going out.”

“But we’re going out for dinner!”

Clarke looks confused. “What?”

“Miller invited us around. Bellamy’s making enchiladas,” Octavia says, and she can feel her lower lip jutting out. Clarke looks away and swears.

“Shit, I’d forgotten about that.” Clarke rakes a hand through her hair. “Uh, tell them I’ll be there, but a bit later. Raven’s going, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,”

“Right, I’ll leave you my keys then. Make sure she doesn’t drive.”

Octavia nods sleepily, then yawns loudly. Clarke smirks. She puts a hand on Octavia’s forehead and pushes lightly, and that’s all it takes for Octavia to fall back down on her bed. She yawns again, and her eyes are suddenly ridiculously heavy.

“Go back to sleep, Octavia. I’ll see you later.”

Octavia ‘hmm’s and closes her eyes. She doesn’t hear Clarke leave.

* * *

Lincoln catches her eyes the second she walks through the door to the classroom. Octavia gives him her best smile and slides into her seat next to Caris (Octavia really likes Caris, she met her at one of the fresher parties and for some reason they went on a walk across the campus together. She also vaguely remembers tunnelling?).

Indra doesn’t say anything to call the class to attention – she never does – but crosses her arms across her chest and stares them down. (Indra is equal parts terrifying and magical and Octavia wants to grow up and be exactly like her). Octavia pulls out her notebook and her pen and starts writing the moment Indra opens her mouth. She’s slightly distracted when Lincoln pulls up the chair next-but-one to her, but there’s nothing much she can do about that. Linguistics is a difficult subject, one that demands her full attention if she’s to take in anything. Octavia is focusing completely on what Indra is saying, her firm tone delivering each line straight into Octavia’s brain.

That focus is ruined completely when Lincoln starts taking his own notes (there’s something about such a big, athletic-looking man writing that does something to her. Octavia really hopes that he secretly writes poetry). Octavia sneaks a look at him out of the corner of her eye and catches the look of concentration on his face, directed down at his paper. She risks a proper look, turning form Indra’s lecture and to Lincoln’s work. Then she almost stops breathing.

Lincoln isn’t writing on a notepad, but drawing in a smooth sketchbook. And in the centre of the page is a penciling of Octavia’s profile, her hair tucked behind her ear and her eyes pointing straight ahead. It’s a stunning likeness. Lincoln meets her eyes with a soft, slightly hesitant smile.

“I can’t finish it if you’re looking at me,” He says quietly. Octavia swallows heavily.

“O-okay,”

She turns back to the lesson, but her mind is far from the lecture. Unbidden, her hand finds the beermat picture in her pocket. When Indra asks her a question Octavia almost jumps out of her skin. She knows the answer, thankfully, but she close to stutters it out. She can see Lincoln’s smirk.

Caris turns to her with a raised brow.

“Hey, what the hell was that?”

Octavia shrugs. Her face is surely superheated by now. “Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” Caris doesn’t look convinced, but she does leave Octavia alone.

God only knows how she survives the rest of the class. Her mind was torn between learning from Indra (because she’s paid _a lot_ of money to be here) and sitting as close as she can to Lincoln and offering to model for him somewhere more private. But she keeps still and tries to listen, and when Caris turns to her to ask a question about the lesson, Octavia makes damn sure that she answers it properly.

When the bell rings Octavia could have collapsed out of relief. She takes her time re-packing her bag (Caris gives her a funny look, as does Indra. She tries her hardest to ignore both), and leaves the classroom only seconds before Lincoln. He walks close to her, their arms bumping.

“Do I get to see it?” She asks. Lincoln blushes ( _blushes_ ) and shakes his head.

“It’s not finished yet.”

“Oh. When will it be finished?”

Octavia tucks her hair behind her ear again, tilting her head so she can meet his eyes (He’s so tall – taller than her brother – that it almost hurts her neck). He smiles down at her.

“Eventually.”

They walk together in silence, but it isn’t uncomfortable. The corridors are clear, students and teachers alike escaping to go for lunch. Octavia doesn’t have any more classes for the day, and was planning on spending the afternoon with Monty and Jasper.

“Are you doing anything for lunch?”

Lincoln’s question startles her slightly. Her hand clutches around the beermat.

“No, I’m not.”

“That’s good.” Lincoln says, then seems to get stuck on what to say next. Octavia grins at her shoes. “Uh, that is, um-”

“Are you asking me to have lunch with you, Lincoln?” She stops walking, putting on her best flirting face.

“I think I am, yeah.”

Octavia snorts and covers her mouth with her hand. “You’re good at this, aren’t you?”

Lincoln scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. It draws attention to the intricate tattoos that stand out in sharp contrast to the warm tan of his skin. It also leads Octavia’s eyes along the path of his jaw, a wonderful shape and covered in dark stubble, then to the perfect cupids bow of his lips.

She’s only aware she’s staring when his lips (and what lips they are) curve into a smile. Octavia’s eyes fly to his eyes (deep, dark brown and so easily lost in).

“What’re you thinking, Octavia?” He asks her, his voice pitched low (and god, if him saying her name doesn’t do something to her). Lincoln takes a step towards her, his body impossibly tall and broad. Everything in Octavia suddenly stills – her heart, her lungs, her whole body freezes in place as he destroys the space between them. (Ridiculously enough, it’s Clarke and Raven that suddenly pop into her mind, hands on hips and smirking. She can picture Raven talking about axe-murderers with perfect clarity.)

Octavia steps closer herself, bringing a hand up to rest on his chest (which is hard and warm and _wow_ ). She taps her fingers over his heart.

“I’m thinking,” She says slowly, her eyes never leaving his, “That if we don’t leave now, there’ll be nowhere nice with tables.”

Lincoln stays close for a few heartbeats, close enough that Octavia can feel the warmth of him all around her, not just through the palm of her hand. Then all of a sudden he backs up, and the feeling Octavia gets is of such _loss_ that she honestly has to stop herself from thinking about it (she’s _not_ a Disney princess, she really shouldn’t be feeling like this. It’s ridiculous).

She forces herself to look away from him and clears her throat.

“What d’you feel like, Lincoln?”

He shrugs, demonstrating just how large his shoulders are. Octavia has to look away again.

In the end they go to a small café just outside of the campus. They walk close together, and the conversation begins flowing as well as it had over text yesterday. Octavia picks the easy topic of school, and they discuss the current chapter Indra is teaching. Lincoln knows an awful lot about languages, and when prompted he begins to speak to her in Italian instead. He moves on to French easily, slipping between the tongues seamlessly.

(She makes a note then to take up Clarke on the offer she made to Jasper to teach him French.)

They laugh and joke and speak about anything and everything. Lincoln details an adventure he and his adopted brother Nyko had gone on when they were children, when they’d decided to go camping by themselves and ended up being chased and circled by badgers.

At the café Lincoln orders a pot of redcurrant tea for himself (which is absolutely adorable). Octavia tells him so, which makes Lincoln blush heavily. He looks away.

“It’s a good source of vitamin C, and it helps regulate blood pressure,” He says, somewhat petulantly. Octavia smiles and nods.

“Of course. That doesn’t stop it being cute, though,” She winks at him. She ordered herself a vanilla cappuccino, and it came covered with cocoa powder and chocolate flakes. The food the café serves is delicious - all locally grown and produced, the sign declared. Lincoln puts away enough to feed several people. Octavia reserves judgement, though, as he had points out that she had sauce on her face without even laughing. He even offers up his own serviette so she can wipe it off.

They linger in the café for over an hour, and Octavia spends most of that agonizing over what to order for dessert (Lincoln orders the most calorie ridden chocolate cake there is, which ups her estimation of him even more). In the end she settles for cheesecake, and Lincoln lets her steal some of his cake. It been, by all accounts, a very successful first date.

They walk back to the campus together as well, somehow even closer together than when they walked to the café. Her shoulder barely reaches his bicep, yet their arms keep touching and their hands bump together more than a few times. At the junction on the foot path that led to her dorm building Octavia stops, turning so she could face him.

Lincoln’s hands were jammed in his pockets and he was wearing the softest, most beautiful smile that Octavia has ever seen. She can’t help but smile back (just the feeling she gets whenever she’s around him is making her dizzy. It’s some serious Disney princess shit). Octavia wants to sit down with Clarke and Raven and analyse _everything_ that had happened over the day.

She takes a step closer, and his smile grows wider. Octavia balances on her tiptoes and, very carefully, presses a kiss to his cheek – close enough to his mouth that either of them could move slightly and they’d be kissing for real. They don’t though, and for a second they both stay still, Octavia’s lips on the roughness of his cheek.

When she drops back down to the flat of her feet Lincoln’s gaze is steady and intense. Octavia drops her eyes, feeling a pleased burn on her cheeks.

“Call me when you want to do this again,” She tells him. Lincoln’s hand reaches for her own and he grasps it. Her fingers are so small next to his, and her skin looks pale in comparison.

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caris is the name i found for one of the grounders that Octavia led during Ressurection (but tell me if I got it wrong).
> 
> As per, thank you so much everyone who kudos'd and commented! This story gets written because you encourage me.  
> also, please do tell me if you think i'm making Octavia and Lincoln move too fast. It's just they move so quickly on the show that it seems that they would in the 'real world' too.
> 
> EDIT - i looked it over again bc i'm terrible at proof reading. There was only a few things, but it should read better now.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an enchilda disaster, and a tiny sliver of revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is possibly my longest chapter? just under 5k.
> 
> thanks again to every one who gave a kudos, or commented or bookmarked. it makes me work just that bit faster ;)

Her dorm room is empty when she gets back, which is unusual, but it gives Octavia the opportunity to throw herself onto her bed and squeal into her pillow without being judged. She lays there for a good while, her face pressed into the pillow, just trying to process what had happened. It’s honesty unbelievable. Lincoln, her stupidly attractive TA, had asked her on a date and it had went perfectly.

Octavia swims in the feelings for as long as she can, until her front pocket starts buzzing. It’s a text off of Raven.

**when are we going to ur brothers?**

Octavia tries to think; it’s only three o’ clock.

_Sevenish, maybe? Idk_

**he’s ur brother**

_yeah, and I’m not his keeper. Come here at quarter too and we’ll go then_

**ok cool**

Raven liked to keep things simple. Monty sent the same sort of text a few minute later, demanding times and information on the night (he even wanted a dress code, which Octavia thought was slightly ridiculous, until she remembered that it was actually _Miller_ who had invited them).

To pass the time Octavia tries to make a bit of headway on the essay that Indra had assigned the class. She also avoids texting Lincoln – because as much as she likes him, she doesn’t want to come off as _too_ eager. (Of course it’s completely different once he texts her first, then she can reply as much as she wants).

Monty arrives first, his hair brushed and shiny, and wearing what is most definitely a new shirt. Octavia raises an eyebrow and he blushes heavily. It’s a really cute shirt, pale blue with short rolled-up sleeves. It makes Monty look even more adorable than usual, especially because he has it buttoned all the way up to collar and wears it tucked into his skinny jeans.

“You going somewhere else, Monty?” Octavia asks with a grin, “Seeing someone _special_?”

Monty’s blush deepens even further. “Ah, well, you know. I don’t – me and Nathan – _Miller_ – it’s not like we, we aren’t really-” He stumbles over his words, letting them pour out un-filtered. Octavia takes pity almost immediately, throwing her arms around his skinny frame and hugging him close.

“As long as you’re happy, Monty, I don’t care what it is that you and Miller have,” She draws back slightly, trying to make her face as serious as she can, “Although, make sure he knows that if he ever hurts him I’m _so_ telling his mother.”

Monty breaks into a peal of laughter, and they sort of fall back into hugging. They’re interrupted seconds later by Raven arriving. Octavia pulls away, but leaves her arm around Monty’s waist.

“Shit, you kids going on a date, or something? What happened to the cop and the TA?” Raven asks, leaning her elbows on the handles of her crutches. She’s changed out of her oil-marked overalls into jeans that are almost clean, and a dark Henley. She’s even braided her hair.

Octavia winces as Monty turns his surprised stare on her.

“TA? When did this happen?” He looks between her and Raven, his eyebrows hidden by his fringe. Raven smirks.

“Oh, it’s super fun story. Pocahontas can tell it on the way.”  Raven’s already backing out of the room. Octavia rolls her eyes as she reaches for her bag and her jacket.

“Hang on, where’s Clarke?” Monty asks, keeping up with Raven easily (She preferred her crutches over the brace because, and Octavia quotes, she’d ‘rather hobble for the rest of my life than wear that ugly piece of shit where people can see it’).

Raven keeps walking, turning her head slightly to glance at Octavia, who shrugs. Raven looks oddly confused for a beat, like she was expecting Octavia to know Clarke’s whereabouts.

“Clarke’s gone to Seattle. She took the train.”

“ _Seattle_?” Octavia and Monty say the city’s name at the same time, in almost the same incredulous tone.

“Yeah. Something about lawyers. It’s family business, or something.” Raven says. Octavia thinks she’s aiming for nonchalant, but can see that Raven is tense under the flippancy. Whatever Clarke’s family business, it obviously isn’t happy.

“Oh.” Octavia replies flatly. They’re quiet on the rest of the way to the Clarke’s car. They’re lawyers in Ark, good ones. Octavia remembers them from when her mother died. God only knows why Clarke had to go all the way to Seattle for one.

Octavia climbs into the driver’s side without thinking, and is apparently the only one surprised. Raven clambers in next to her, handing Monty her crutches as he slides into the backseat.

“Clarke still thinks that I can’t drive,” Raven says when she catches Octavia’s quietly stupefied look. Monty nods.

“My mom won’t trust me with her car, and she’s known me eighteen years. I’m not ready for the responsibility.”

Raven snickers, flipping down the sun-visor and perusing the CDs. Octavia has her iPod in her coat pocket, but she doesn’t think Raven will be interested. She tells Monty to pick a number, and looks disappointed when he says four.

“Four is my least favourite. Clarke picked _all_ of them. It’s terrible.” She tuts, but slides the CD into the player anyway. “She’s ‘classically trained’, or whatever,” Raven holds up her hands to make air quotations.

Octavia snorts and starts up the car. “Why did you let her pick them if you hate all of the songs so much?”

Raven shrugs. “I have one that’s just for me as well – Dickless Road Trip9. It’s a collection of all of my favourite Spanish songs, all too fast for Clarke to sing along with. She tries to anyway.” She smirks and rolls her eyes, even though Clarke isn’t there to witness it. Monty beams at the information

“Jasper does that. We speak Vietnamese at home, you see, and he’s sort of okay at it because we basically grew up at each other’s house, but when we speed up he’s hopeless.” Monty chimes from the backseat. “Octavia is absolutely abysmal at it though.”

Octavia makes a noise of protests and takes her eyes off of the road for a second to glare at her friend. “Yeah, and like you’re sparkling at Filipino.”

“You’re Filipino?” Raven asks, actually sounding curious for once, instead of mildly disinterested. Octavia looks away and Monty bites his lip.

“I’m not, I don’t think. But Bellamy’s dad definitely was – is –from the Philippines. Before he left he taught Bell some, and Bell found enough books to carry on learning.” Octavia’s fingers start to drum on the steering wheel. “Our mom tried to learn as well, but she always had things to do, like work and stuff. So it was just me and Bell who learnt it.”

Raven takes the information in silence for a few seconds. Clarke’s classical music is floating out of the speakers, a soft instrumental of pianos and strings. “You don’t think he was your dad too?”

Octavia shakes her head. “No. My mom never got around to telling me, but I don’t think he was. Me and Bell look alike, but not _that_ much, not really.”

“Fuck,” Raven says, summarising things quite neatly. She rolls her head on the headrest and looks at Octavia fully. “If it makes you feel any better, I have no idea either. Half of the men I called _tío_ could’ve actually been my dad.” She smirks, but there’s something brittle to it, something that makes Octavia want to stop the car and hold the other girl close. “At least you have Bellamy,” Raven carries on, “Doesn’t matter how much you’re related.”

Octavia smiles. “Yeah, I have Bellamy.”

The rest of the ride is quiet, almost stifling. Monty doesn’t even ask about Lincoln. Octavia is glad to get out of the car. She doesn’t park it quite as neatly as Clarke had done the two times she’d driven here, but it’s passable. As they take the steps to the front entrance of the building the front door swings open and Wick comes bustling out. His hair is mad and he looks like he hasn’t slept in a good long while. He stops to smirk at Raven though.

“You stalking me, Reyes?”

Raven snorts. “Hardly, ass-wipe. I have a friend who has the misfortune of living in the same building as you.”

“I didn’t know you did friends, Reyes.”

“There’s a lot of shit you don’t know, Wick,” Raven says, a smile hiding in the corners of her lips, “Like how to build a fucking radio.”

Wick holds a hand to his chest and looks grievously offended. “So cutting,” He drops the hand and rolls his eyes. “Maybe you’ll figure out insults the same day you figure out which way up to hold a blueprint.”

Raven laughs at him sarcastically. “Fuck off, Borat.” Wick’s hand goes to his upper-lip automatically, and Raven smirks in triumph. Wick levels her with an amused smile, bouncing back as he always does.

“Yeah, yeah. See you later, wrench-monkey.”

Raven jerks her chin in a way of responding and they pass by each other. Wick stops by Monty to clap him on the shoulder, and they say something science-y to each other that Octavia doesn’t understand but makes the two of them giggle like children. Raven’s disappeared into the building, so Octavia dashes after her after waving goodbye to Wick. Monty calls a quick, ‘I’ll be up in a minute, O!’

“So,” She begins, jogging up the stairs (Raven complains a hell of a lot, but she is _fast_ on those crutches) “Just to get this clear; _Wick_ is the TA that you want to beat to death with your crutches?”

Raven rolls her eyes. “He’s worse when we’re alone. So… _engineer-y._ ”

“Oh, of course. That clears it up fantastically.”

“Shut up, Pocahontas.”

They bicker good-naturedly up to Bellamy’s door, and Octavia uses her key and opens the door with her hip. The scene that greets them on the other side of the door is one of unmitigated disaster. 

Smoke is pouring out of the kitchen, and the fire alarm is laying discarded on the living room coffee-table, its wires torn out of its back. A bare-chested Bellamy is the doorway of the kitchen trying to waft away the thick curls of smoke away with his t-shirt. Miller is screaming something about burnt cheese and clattering about unseen in the kitchen. Murphy dashes out of his room for a second when the front door opens - dressed in a nice red shirt, his boxers, and one sock – sees that it’s them and then darts back into his room.

Raven and Octavia stand stock still, unsure of what to do. Then Raven pushes the front door close with one of her crutches. The noise of the front door closing startles Bellamy, who whirls around in surprise.

“O? You’re early. Where’s Clarke?”

Raven snorts. “Priorities, Blake. You’re kitchens on fire.” Bellamy blinks at them. His head swivels between them and the smoke cloud and he shrugs helplessly.

“BELLAMY BLAKE, COME FUCKING HELP ME YOU USELESS PIECE OF SHIT!” Miller screeches. Bellamy’s face pales and he throws himself back into the kitchen, already waving his top.

Octavia can feel the expression settle on her face, but she’s at a loss on how to describe it. Un-surprised disappointment, perhaps? Raven catches the look and snorts again. She throws herself in one of the arm chairs, the one that partly faces the kitchen, and leans on the armrest with her chin in her hand.

“They’re making enchiladas,” She says, “How the fuck did the mess up _enchiladas_?”

Octavia’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Her hands convey how little she knows about the current situation, moving about in little movements of ‘I don’t fucking _know_ ’.

The smoke seems to thin over the next half a minute, and it hasn’t yet reached where Octavia and Raven are in the living room. When it finally dematerialises, Miller emerges from the kitchen. His face is close to glowing, and his Kiss The Cook apron is covered in sooty black marks. His beanie has disappeared, and there’s several stripes of grey across his forehead.

“Where’s Monty?” He asks, looking all around for his tiny Asian not-boyfriend. Raven ducks her head to smirk into her hand. Suddenly it’s very clear why Monty had decided to stay and talk with Wick for an extra minute (Octavia knows that Wick was Monty’s science friend from when Monty had been entered in high-school competitions when he was twelve, and together the two boys had teamed up together and won _everything_. But Wick is also male, the same age as Miller, and fairly attractive underneath the whole homeless genius look.)

Monty Green is as cute as he is crafty.

“What? what’s so funny?” Miller asks, looking genuinely put out.

Octavia waves a hand. “Nothing. Monty’s just talking to Wick, he’ll be up in a minute.”

“ _Wick_?” Miller mutters, looking at the closed front door. Raven visibly convulses as she suppresses the urge to laugh. Octavia curls her hands into tight fists and tries not to look like she’s about to wet herself. Miller frowns at the door for a second or so, then disappears back into the kitchen.

Raven’s gasp of relief sounds like she’s been holding her breath for years, and Octavia has to look away from her in case she starts laughing. Monty and Miller will be the end of all of them.

“We’re not having enchiladas.” Bellamy says when he walks out of the kitchen. He has his t-shirt in hand and sniffs at it, pulling a face when all he can smell is smoke. Out of the corner of her eye Octavia can see Raven looking at Bellamy in a way that is purely appreciative. (And here, she rolls her eyes, because she can’t have _two_ of her new friends having the hots for her brother, because that would just be horrific).

“If you say ‘pizza’ I swear I’ll scream,” Octavia points at her brother warningly, “All we eat is pizza. I don’t want anymo-”

“Do you think this is too dressy?” Murphy comes bursting out of his room. He’s wearing pants now, which is a blessing (no one wants to see such pale noodle legs before dinner), but a yellow shirt instead. He twirls, holding his arms out to the side. When he faces them again he tucks his hair behind his ears.

“What the fuck.”

Octavia elbows Raven in the side harshly. “You look fine, Murphy.”

Murphy frowns. “I don’t – _fine_? Fine isn’t… fuck.” He throws his hands up in the air and flounces back into his room (never before has the word _flounce_ been used to describe John Murphy).

Bellamy looks like he’s just seen his eldest son’s graduation, his eyes are so bright.

“He’s going to ask Emori out properly.” He confides. There’s another t-shirt of his hanging over a radiator for some reason, so he snags it and pulls it on (Raven looks mildly disappointed).

“No way,” Octavia breathes,

“Way way.” Miller confirms, coming out of the kitchen again. The streaks are gone off of his forehead. “It’ll go down in flames and they won’t speak for a fortnight and it’ll be terrible.” Bellamy punches him in the arm and Miller plasters on a smile. “But good on him for trying!”

Octavia’s closest to the door, so she’s the one to get it when there’s a knock. It’s only going to be Monty, so she doesn’t bother to hide her exasperation at her family (Miller totally gets grouped into Family, he has since she was thirteen).

Monty’s face screws up the second the door is fully open.

“What’s on fire?”

“Our food. You’re boyfriend fucked up.” Raven calls cheerily. Miller scoffs.

“I did not.”

Bellamy looks very confused. Probably as confused as Octavia feels every time the Monty/Miller situation is brought up (she has no idea how far they are in Operation: Minty). Monty leans around Octavia to look at Miller.

“Nathan?” Miller points at Bellamy straight away, looking like a seven year old blaming the missing cake on his brother.

“Bellamy set the time for forty minutes instead of fourteen.”

“And you didn’t _notice_?!” Octavia cries. Bellamy shrugs helplessly.

“Murphy kept bugging me about outfits. I got distracted.”

* * *

 

Raven gets a phone call at around nine. They’ve settled in to watch TV – after Miller and Monty had gone to get Chinese (and been away a suspiciously long time), and after Murphy had finally settled on an outfit and left to pick up Emori, and after the windows had been open long enough that the whole apartment didn’t smell like an ashtray. Monty had even found time to corner Octavia in the kitchen and demand every single detail about Lincoln and their date (Raven had interrupted halfway through and asked if they made out. Octavia told her that they hadn’t, and Raven rolled her eyes and said something about ‘the youth of today’).

Bellamy lowers the volume – they’re watching a marathon of The Office, which is one of Octavia’s most favourite TV programs _ever_. Jasper and Monty once built a shrine to Jim Halpert (there’s a chance it’s still in a shoebox under Jasper’s bed). The opening bars of Aqua’s _Barbie Girl_ play. Miller snickers at the music, and he and Monty mouth the words to each other.

_Hiya, Barbie,_

_Hi, ken!_

_You wanna go for a-_

“Griffin, what’s up?”

Bellamy shuts off the sound completely. Octavia raises her eyebrows at him, but he ignores her. Octavia had announced that Clarke was in Seattle and wouldn’t be around till later. Raven hadn’t told them anything else, and when they asked her she shrugged.

“What? When did you start drinking, Clarke. Oh, on the train. That’s fucking sensible, isn’t it?” On the other end, they can hear shouting, but no discernible words. “Uh-huh. Of course. Do you want me to come down and get you? Right, fuck you too.” Raven holds the phone away from her ear and waves it at Bellamy.

“Princess shit-faced wants your door code.”

“Is she okay?” Bellamy asks as he takes the phone, his eyes wide. Raven nods.

“Yeah, she’s fine. Family always makes her boozy.”

 

“Oh. Oh, hey, princess.” He repeats the passcode several times and walks her through the motions of opening the door. Miller looks at Raven in concern.

“Should we go down and help her?”

Raven flaps a hand. “No, she’ll be fine. Serves her right anyway.”

Bellamy hangs up the phone finally, and not too long later there’s a whole barrage of knocks on the front door. Miller’s the closest, so he rolls off of the couch (where he’s been sat by Monty and playing with his hair) and trots to the door.

“Holy shit.”

“Yes, I know! I’m fucking fantastic. Hello Millsy.” Clarke reaches up to pat Miller’s cheek. She sounds fairly drunk, which normally Octavia would be concerned about, but right now she’s more concerned with what Clarke’s dressed in.

The whole outfit probably costs more than the house Octavia and Bellamy grew up in.

Clarke’s wearing a pale grey, wrap-around pencil skirt that frames her hips perfectly, and is complemented beautifully by the silky periwinkle coloured blouse – which is the exact same colour as Clarke’s pointy toed stilettoes. She’s got a long, cream peacoat draped over her arm, and her hair is twisted and pinned in a chignon (Octavia can’t even say chignon, never mind _do_ one). She looks like a million bucks, and would look composed if it wasn’t for the alcohol flush in her cheeks and the fact that curled blonde strands of hair are falling out of their places.

Clarke takes in all of their stares and scowls at them. They’re all utterly floored. Apart from Raven, who looks close to sympathetic.

“Good journey?”

“I fucking hate _everything_ , Rae.”

Clarke kicks off her shoes (Octavia can see the shiny red under soles, and nearly wails when one hits the wall and the other scuffs along the floor) and with one hand she undoes the clasp to a string of pearls that could probably see Octavia through college. There’s a few beats of silence, as no one knows what to say. If Jasper was here he’d probably whistle.

Miller clears his throat awkwardly. “There’s, uh, chow-mein in the fridge.”

“What happened to enchiladas? I thought Bellamy was cooking?” Clarke asks, looking up at him. Even from this distance Octavia can see how expertly Clarke’s make-up is applied (and she means, like, ‘a few hundred dollars for a session’ expertly). So she can totally forgive how star-struck Miller suddenly looks. Bellamy smirks, and now Clarke is turned away from him slightly Octavia can clearly see him checking Clarke out. Octavia stretches out in her chair so she can kick him.

“Fire?” Miller says.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Miller trails off, looking over at Monty helplessly. His not-boyfriend shrugs delicately and looks just as lost.

“So, princess,” Bellamy begins, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. His hair is well past due a trim, so the curls are weighted down, making him look like he’s got a bowl cut. Clarke doesn’t seem to mind. She folds her arms and tries to cross her ankles, but she almost tips over. “Been a rough day?”

“It’s been the worst. I had to dress like _this_ ,” She gestures down herself, her arm movements large and exaggerated. “Look at me!”

“I’m looking, princess,” Bellamy grins. Clarke rolls her eyes.

“Seriously. This bra,” She points at her chest, “cost two-hundred dollars. Because Diana Sydney can _tell_ if you’re skimping out by the shape of your tits.”

“What?” Octavia chokes out. Surely she didn’t hear that right. Two-hundred dollars for a _bra_?

“Yeah, I know. Why d’you think I had to leave so early? None of my old clothes like this fit me anymore. I all but popped out of my favourite green blouse.” Clarke frowns and looks down at her breasts like they’ve committed a crime against her.

Raven laughs. “That’s because when that blouse fit you looked like a twig. Nine months of Denny’s will do that to you,” She nods at Clarke (who looks as out of shape as any supermodel does).

“Rude,” Clarke mutters. “This one isn’t even comfy. Hey, O?” Clarke catches Octavia’s attention, drawing her away from the fact that her roommate is wearing lingerie that could feed someone for a month. “Do you keep clothes here?”

“No, she doesn’t, but I can lend you some,” Bellamy butts in, already standing up. He points Clarke towards his room. Clarke grins and heads off by herself, leaving Bellamy standing by himself. He blinks and slowly sits back down. Raven whistles the noise of a balloon deflating.

Bellamy turns the volume on the TV back up, and Octavia tries not to think of how Clarke’s probably tossing around and outfit that cost thousands of dollars and leaving it on her brother’s bedroom floor (it’s a worse scenario than the _other_ way Clarke could end up with her clothes one Bellamy’s floor). There’s an alarming amount of thumps and swearing, and once or twice they can actually here Clarke talking to herself. When the door to Bell’s room opens they all turn automatically, looking at Clarke.

“Why are your shoulders so _wide_?” Clarke whines. Bellamy shrugs.

“Why are your shoulders so thin?”

Clarke’s wearing one of Bellamy’s t-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants – which are rolled up several times around Clarke’s ankles. Her clothes are thrown over her shoulder, and in her hands she’s folding what is most definitely a garter belt. Octavia looks away and covers her eyes with her hands (Needless to say Bellamy keeps his eyes on the blonde). Clarke snickers.

“Don’t be such a baby, O. It’s only because pantyhose bunch up. I didn’t want to hafta wiggle about in Sydney’s office.”

“Sure, why not” Octavia says, lowering her hand and keeping her eyes on the floor. Clarke tosses her stuff down by her handbag – which is probably also extortionately expensive – then flops down on the couch in between Bellamy and Miller. She doesn’t seem that drunk anymore, just sad. She starts taking the pins out of her hair, using Bellamy’s knee as a tray.

“Was it really that bad?” Raven asks suddenly. Clarke freezes, her hands in her hair.

She nods and drops her hands. She turns them over in her laps and stares at her palms for a little while. Raven winces.

“Yeah. It really was. It’s _my_ money. He left it to _me._ But she’s got her lawyers invoking clauses and inventing loopholes, and because dad didn’t think to get anything checked over properly, she can.” Clarke sounds tired. She looks down at her feet, wiggling her toes. “I just…”

“Yeah,” Raven sighs.

“Yeah,” Clarke echoes.

“Is it, um, one of the ‘reasons’?” Octavia braves. Clarke nods again, pursing her lips.

“Yeah. One of them. My mother, she…” She trails off. Half of her hair is down and around her face, and in that moment, dressed in a t-shirt that slides off of her shoulders, she looks pitiable. Clarke tucks her legs underneath her, and she looks so _small_.

“You had an argument with your mom?” Bellamy asks carefully. They lost their own mom years ago, so it’s strange to think of arguing with her. Octavia will never understand how people can go so long without speaking to a parent; if she had both of hers she’d call them everyday.

“I had _several_ arguments with her.” Clarke corrects.

“Can’t you fix it?”

Clarke’s laugh is empty and hard. Octavia tries to catch Raven’s eyes, but the woman is looking determinedly away.

“Fix it? Bellamy, the last time I saw my mother she was being bent over the kitchen counter by the family lawyer two days after my dad’s funeral.”

Octavia stops breathing, she’s sure of it. Raven is looking down at the floor, her shoulders slumped. Clarke looks close to tears, her eyes still on her hands.

“Fucking hell, princess,” Bellamy whispers. He wraps an arm around Clarke’s shoulders and draws her to him (Bellamy is a very tactile person, he always has been. Hugs and casual touches are part of how he shows how he feels. Physical contact is how he’s always dealt with situations). Clarke’s head drops to his chest. Octavia doesn’t know what part of the story she’s more horrified by.

“She – she told me to stop being such a child. That I was an adult and should recognise that grief is different in everyone but, _fuck_ , she didn’t even-- with _Kane_.” Clarke whimpers, and Octavia wonders if the family lawyer was more than just the family lawyer to Clarke.

Monty’s hands are clutching at Miller’s shirt, and his not-boyfriend is holding him tightly. Octavia can do little more than sit where she is, transfixed by the sight of her friend shaking in Bellamy’s arms.

“She took it back, though, when she found out I left Yale. She called me a child _then_.” Clarke clears her throat and curls up closer to Bellamy. “I don’t… what can I _fix_ about that? She won’t accept that it’s my choice, and I can’t go home to that.”

“Then you stay here, princess,” Bellamy says firmly. Clarke lifts her head to look up at him, her face open and vulnerable. Bellamy’s jaw is set, but his gaze is soft. Clarke seems at a loss (it could be the alcohol, Bellamy’s compassion, or the fact that she had a god-awful hand dealt to her).

“What?”

“You stay here, in Arc. What have you got to go back to?”

Clarke glances at Raven slowly, her eyes wet. Raven smiles back, her sharp edges gone for once.

“I’m here, Clarke. And I’m staying, remember?”

Clarke nods, and a tear slips out of the corner of her eye. She swipes it away with the back of her hand and laughs shakily.

“Honestly,” Octavia says, putting on her best grin, “We can use all of the family we can get.” Bellamy readjusts his arm around Clarke’s shoulder, and Miller puts his hand on her knee. Monty stretches out so he can hold Clarke’s hand. Clarke looks around all of them, and suddenly smiles. It’s not her usual smile, and it’s wobbly as hell, but it’s there. When she speaks it’s quietly, but with so much emotion Octavia can feel her own eyes well up.

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY ABBY FORGIVE ME. but bear in mind that you're getting Octavia's opinion of Clarke's side of the story. Also, don't think that Octavia has the whole story yet, there's still more that Clarke hasn't/won't speak about, but you'll have to wait and see ;)  
> Next chapter is a timeskip, and will be launching straight into Halloween!
> 
> (also, if anyone would be willing to help me proofread i'd be so grateful. i have so much homework rn it's a wonder i can write at all :') )


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia learns that clubbing with Murphy is a dangerous pursuit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to start, a GREAT big thank you to the wonderful Lushatrocity, who proofread this for me, and as such this chapter is more coherent than usual. (but for srs, go check out their new one. it's beautiful and it made me cry)  
> and also thankyouthank you to everyone who kudos'd and commented - this fic has nearly hit 500 kudos, which is exciting, no?

Weirdly enough, Friday nights fall into something of a routine. Finish school, go to Bellamy’s, go out. Waking up dazed, confused and hungover on Bellamy’s couch is also now routine. (Octavia doesn’t bother with a sleeping bag anymore, and has taken her place as the middle spoon. Monty has given up entirely on pretending he and Miller don’t have a thing, so he always heads straight for Miller’s room and the pair don’t surface till morning).

One night Emori comes over too (because she and Murphy are now _official_. Even on Facebook), and spends the whole time flirting furiously with Raven and Clarke, who laugh and reply in kind (Raven jokes around and says that she and Emori could start a less-than-abled club, pointing to Emori’s prosthetic hand. Emori shows her approval of the idea by taking her hand off and holding it up like a flag). Murphy ignores the blatant flirting for the most part, rolling his eyes whenever one of the girls would lean in towards Emori and whisper something. Whenever Emori is sat next to him he keeps a hand on one of her thighs, or on the back of her neck, and Emori does much the same; casual touches to mark territory. They dance together a lot, too, close and intimate, and so grossly that Octavia wants to puke.

Until outside the club someone who is neither Clarke nor Raven tries to kiss Emori.

“Hey, asshole, back off,” Murphy snarls and seizes the guy by the back of his shirt, tugging him away from Emori. Emori looks decidedly unimpressed.

“He’s trashed, John, just leave it.” She crosses her arms and looks down her nose at the guy who tried to kiss her.

“No.” Murphy says, moving so he’s stood in front of the guy. “No, he needs to learn that you can’t just kiss girls because you fucking _feel_ like it.”

The guy smiles nastily, “Why, you gonna do something about it, little man?” Out of the corner of her eye Octavia can see Bellamy stand straighter and square his shoulders. By his side, Clarke does much the same.

Murphy narrows his eyes, “You gonna make me do something about it?”

“C’mon, Dax! Beat his fucking skull in!” someone calls, and it’s then that Octavia looks away from Murphy - and Dax, apparently - and to the small posse of men behind them. Murphy takes the jeer as an invitation, his fist catching Dax in the face before the other man can hit him first. Dax stumbles back a few steps, and brings a hand up to his mouth, grinning. He launches himself at Murphy, who's physically smaller by quite a bit.

Octavia shrieks and looks away. She feels a hand wrap around her arm, and almost screams, but it’s only Miller. She risks a glance back at the fight and sees Raven swoop in to pull Emori out of the way. One of Dax’s friends tries to grab Murphy and keep him still, but he’s barely touched him before Clarke is there. She stomps down on the man’s foot with her stiletto, then uppercuts him so savagely with her elbow that he drops like a ton of bricks.

Emori is stood off to the side, an angry snarl on her face, reaching into her purse for something, but Raven snatches her hand away from it. She’s saying something to Emori, but Octavia can’t hear it over the sound of shouting. (Octavia is truly terrified. She’s only heard stories about the fights her brother and her friends have gotten into, she’s never seen any of them.)

There’s a shout from the rest of Dax’s friends, and suddenly they all move in like a pack of hunting animals. Bellamy is still stunned by the move Clarke just pulled, looking at her in amazement, so he misses the fist that comes flying for his nose.

Octavia learns then that Clarke hadn’t been exaggerating about her ability in a fight. She practically dances her way through the men to be by Bellamy’s side, and then lashes out with her foot. The man who punched Bellamy yelps, and Clarke carries on after him, her tiny frame easily being dwarfed by the man she’s fighting. In a move that looks like it came straight out of a film, Clarke Griffin – dressed in a floral bralette and pink six inch heels – punches the guy in the solar plexus, then uses the winded man as a battering ram and throws him into one of his friends.

The fight is messy, and there’s blood splattered on the sidewalk. Bellamy’s bellowing and ploughing his fists into anyone that comes close, and Dax’s friends are all screaming for blood. Octavia cowers behind Miller, whose lips are set into a grim line. All the while he’s slowly backing up, his arms outstretched and encompassing all three of the teenagers stood behind him. Monty is shaking, but Jasper looks on the edge of joining in. Octavia shoots out a hand to snag his wrist and keeps him by her side (because no way would skinny, reedy Jasper survive a fight like this).

Bellamy looks like he’s about to shout something when Clarke puts a hand on his chest. She has a cut above her eyebrow, but still looks better than Bellamy, who has blood flowing from his nose and all over his t-shirt. Dax’s friends are still gathered around them, scowling and jeering. Clarke catches Raven’s eyes and jerks her chin up. Raven’s eyes widen, and in a rush of movement she seizes Emori’s arm and yanks her towards Octavia and Miller.

“We’re leaving. Start walking,” Raven says sharply, her hand still on Emori. Miller nods jerkily, holding Monty’s hand and pushing him gently after the two women. Monty’s hand seeks Jasper’s, and the two boys look between themselves uneasily, but follow Miller anyway, all of them jogging. Only Octavia tries to stay, her eyes glued to the form of her brother, who is once again embroiled in the fight. Raven appears at her side suddenly, her mouth by Octavia’s ear.

“We need to go, Octavia. This isn’t going to be clean.”

Octavia wants to laugh, because obviously this isn’t going to be clean. Her brother is _bleeding_. _Clarke_ is bleeding. Murphy, sassy and angry Murphy, is getting his face pounded in. Octavia just about sees Clarke throw herself at Dax when Raven spins her bodily and marches her down the sidewalk, away from the brawl.

“Keep walking, keep walking, just keep walking,” Raven is muttering, throwing looks over her shoulder. Octavia wants to look back, but she can’t bring herself to. She can hear the sounds of the fight, though; animalistic and terrible. She starts crying, and that only makes Raven march her faster. They catch up with Miller a few blocks away from the apartment. The small group has slowed down some, and Emori looks like a wild animal, pacing on the spot as she waits for Raven and Octavia to reach them.

“Why the fuck did you stop me?” Emori gets close to Raven, their noses almost touching. Raven is in flats, as usual, but Emori is in heels and has to stoop to meet Raven’s eyes.

“Because you’d have made it fucking _worse_.” She looks at Emori like she isn’t scared in the slightest, and knowing Raven, she probably isn’t.

“W-what do we do now?” Monty asks, and he’s been crying too. Miller still has hold of his hand, and he tightens his grip on it.

“We go home and wait for them to get back.”  Raven says simply, and with one last glare at Emori she begins to pull Octavia in the direction of Bellamy’s apartment. Octavia stumbles, tripping because of the uneven flags and her own high-heels. Raven takes her hand gently, and offers Octavia a small, tight smile.

The apartment is the way that they had left it, cluttered with overnight stuff and various other things that had been left lying around. Octavia catches sight of one of Bellamy’s jackets and burst into tears again. Then she remembers that Clarke had lent her the peacoat and the tears come even harder. Raven hands her off to Jasper and Monty, who guide her to the folded out sofa-bed and surround her in a hug. Emori stomps off to Murphy’s bedroom, spitting curses at Raven all the way.

Any trace of alcohol seems to have left Octavia’s system, and she’s left feeling stretched out and empty. Bellamy is still out in town, probably getting used as a punching bag. Her tears don’t stop, and the boys crowd in closer, their own tears mingling with hers. Miller and Raven are in the kitchen, talking lowly.

Octavia can feel herself falling asleep, a whole day of school and a night out catching up with her. She itches to call Lincoln. They didn’t go to The Ground tonight, so she hasn’t seen him since that morning (when they’d made out behind a bookshelf in the library). He’d know what to do, or at least he was big enough that he could probably win the fight one handed. Octavia wishes then that she hadn’t let the threat of Bellamy and his friends settle things for her in school, and that she’d fought some of her own battles. She doesn’t know how to fight, so even if she had tried to help, it wouldn’t have helped in the slightest, but that knowledge doesn’t make her feel any better.

Monty has only just stopped shaking, and Jasper has a faraway look in his eyes. Octavia doesn’t know how long they sit there, taking comfort from each other.  She doesn’t even know what time it is, lost in the blur of drinking and then running.

“Clarke,” Octavia hears Raven say loudly. She and the two boys struggle to extract themselves and turn around so that they can see the door to the kitchen. Raven limps out, having taken off her knee brace. Miller rushes past her, tearing the front door open and heading for the stairs. Raven has her phone clamped to her ear, and her spare hand is in a tight fist. “Okay, I’ll get it out. Miller’s on his way down.”

When she hangs up the phone the three on the sofa-bed start talking immediately, their questions jumbling up into a mess of worried exclamations. Raven ignores all of them, heading for the pile of hers and Clarke’s stuff. She struggles to kneel down next to the stuff, so she turns and snaps for one of them to help her. Octavia is up in an instant, practically skidding across the floor as she kneels down.  Raven orders Monty and Jasper to do things too, like boiling the kettle, filling bowls with ice water, and fetching towels.

“I need Clarke’s first aid kit. It’s in her bag somewhere.”

Octavia freezes. “First aid kit?” She whispers, horror creeping into her voice.

“Just do it, Octavia,” Raven says firmly. Octavia nods shakily, and her hands move of their own volition, opening Clarke’s bag and searching for the kit. It’s bright red and absolutely massive, she finds. Octavia seizes it victoriously.

“For fucks _sake_!” Raven shouts, and Octavia’s head whips towards her. Raven’s looking at the front door, and because of where she’s stood she sees Murphy hanging between Miller’s and Bellamy’s shoulders before Octavia does. But when she does see him, Octavia screams. His whole face is a red mess.

Clarke brings up the rear, her shoes in hand and looking grim. She strides towards the three men, who have stopped just before the living room area starts. Her shoes are dropped carelessly (had it been any other time Octavia would have mourned, yet again, how Clarke treated her shoes).

“Put him on the couch. O, my kit.” Clarke says in a voice that brokers no disagreement. She holds her hand out for the first aid kit, and Octavia all but throws it at her in her eagerness to get rid of it. Murphy groans incoherently as Bellamy and Miller lower him down, and he slumps, boneless. Emori appears out of Murphy’s room, her face pale.

“Oh, John,” She whispers, stepping up close to couch. She cradles his face, mindless of the blood she gets on her hands. In a swift move that belies just how strong Clarke is, Octavia’s roommate seizes Emori by the upper arm and wrenches her away from her boyfriend.

“That’s enough. Your hands are probably filthy.” Emori pulls herself out of Clarke’s grasp, scowling fiercely.

“Fuck you! He’s my _boyfriend_!”

“And I’m the almost-fucking-doctor!” Clarke roars back, poking Emori firmly in the chest. “And I’m telling you to get back!” Raven moves to back her up almost without though, practically Clarke’s shadow.

Emori scowls but backs off. The woman looks close to tears now, her lips trembling. Clarke looks away from her and down at Murphy. She crouches in front of him, and Bellamy does the same. Miller has disappeared into the kitchen.

“I need you to help me get his shirt off,” Clarke says. Bellamy nods, and before Clarke can say anything else he swipes a hand down Murphy’s shirt and rips open all of the buttons. Clarke spares a moment to look impressed, and in the same second Bellamy grins. They both look pretty beat up, but nowhere near as bad as Murphy. After tearing open several small packets, Clarke snaps on some blue plastic gloves.

“I need water and a soft cloth,” Clarke says, back in doctor mode. Octavia guesses that the order is for her, as Clarke and Bellamy are helping divest Murphy of his shirt. She hurries to the bathroom and finds several flannels, then runs to the kitchen and takes two of the bowls of ice-water that Monty and Jasper have made (there’s several. Probably more than Clarke will need).

She passes all of the items to Raven, then steps back to where Emori is. Octavia is sure that they’re all tear-streaked messes by now. Emori looks as if she’s about to break. Octavia slips her hand into the other girls, but keeps her eyes on Murphy. Clarke has dipped the flannel into the chilled water and is now wiping Murphy’s face gently. Murphy winces and moans, but Bellamy has his hands on his friend’s shoulders to keep him still. Raven acts as Clarke’s assistant, swapping the flannels and rinsing each in the spare bowl of water. An alarming amount of blood lifts off of Murphy’s face, and the bowls of water turn steadily red. Clarke keeps going until Murphy’s face is back to its normal paleness.

Clarke doesn’t express any sort of sympathy, her face hard. With one hand she tips Murphy’s head back, angling it back so she can see all of his face. Octavia whimpers at the sight of the cuts, the results of some really fucking heavy punches (or kicks, which is an even worse thought). Emori makes a strangled noise at the back of her throat, and her hand tightens around Octavia’s almost painfully. Octavia turns away when she sees Clarke thread the needle.

She thinks she’s going to be sick.

Clarke looks up at Emori in askance. Emori nods, conveying that she’ll be staying. Call her a coward, but Octavia can’t be here for this. She flees to the kitchen, and helplessly asks Miller to take her place. He’d been holding Monty again, cradling the teen to his chest. Then they kissed, which Octavia could have cheered about if not for the impromptu surgery going on in the living room.

Jasper is close to hyperventilating, and Octavia does the natural thing and hugs him, her arms tight around his chest. She can feel his nose bury in to her hair, and in seconds they’re joined by Monty.

“Why didn’t they take him to hospital?” Octavia whispers.

“Because he’s a social worker,” Monty replies, his head on Octavia’s shoulder. “It’d get reported and he’d be black-marked, especially is the police get involved.”

“Police?”

“It was a street-fight, O. Someone will have called them. Miller said it’s why Clarke told Raven to run,” Jasper murmurs. Octavia shudders at the thought. She didn’t know what she’d do if any of them were arrested. There’s a soft sigh as Raven enters the kitchen, and she looks at the three of them so sadly. In her hands she has the two bowls of bloody water. Octaviia clenches her eyes shut and looks away.

“I forget sometimes that the three of you are only eighteen,” Raven says. Octavia can hear the sound of water being poured down the sink, and takes it to mean that it’s all clear. “Emori’s put Murphy to bed. He’ll be fine in the morning.”

“What about Clarke and Bellamy?” Jasper asks, turning his head so his cheek is laying flat on Octavia’s head. Raven smiles slightly.

“They’re both fine too. A little cut up maybe, and they’ll have bruises tomorrow, but they’re fine.”

Octavia nods and unwinds herself from Monty and Jasper’s arms, and the three of them walk into the living room together. Miller takes Monty’s hand immediately, threading their fingers together and smiling tiredly.

“I wanna go to bed, Nate,” Monty says quietly, his eyes on his feet. Miller kisses his cheek and whispers something to him, then Monty heads to Miller’s bedroom by himself. Miller stays long enough to pat Bellamy and Clarke’s shoulders, and he kisses Octavia on the forehead. Jasper curls up on an armchair and falls asleep almost immediately.

Clarke and Bellamy are sat shoulder to shoulder on the sofa-bed. Bellamy has blood under his nose and on his chin, and it’s splattered over his t-shirt too. The strap of Clarke’s bralette has been torn clean off, and the cut on her eyebrow is still bleeding sluggishly. She seems to shake herself awake, and takes Bellamy’s chin in her hand.

“C’mon. You need to get washed up,”

Bellamy manages to smirk. “You’re not too hot yourself, princess.” He stands and pulls Clarke to her feet, and they wander into the kitchen together. Bellamy kisses her the top of Octavia’s head on the way past.

Raven turns to Octavia and runs her hands up and down Octavia’s arms.

“See? They’re fine. Now you need to go to bed.”

“Yeah, I do.” Octavia agrees. She strips off and doesn’t bother hunting for her pyjamas – there’s a t-shirt hanging on the radiator again, and while Octavia has no idea who it belongs to, she has no problem tugging it on and falling onto the sofa-bed. Raven follows her a bare minute later, and when she’s laying down she offers Octavia the comfort she needs without being asked. They settle together, Raven holding Octavia to her chest.

Octavia is dead tired, but sleep eludes her. Already Raven’s breathing has slowed, and Jasper’s snores started up a little while ago. She doesn’t know why she can’t sleep until she hears Bellamy and Clarke come out of the kitchen and breathes a sigh of relief.

“Night, Bellamy,” Clarke says, yawning.

“If you sleep on the sofa-bed you’ll be as stiff as plank in the morning,” Octavia can picture the frown on his face, the way his eyebrows dip and his lips purse.

“And where else am I going to go?”

“My bed.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, and Octavia can hear the hesitance in her voice (Octavia holds her breath, because _no way_ did Bellamy just proposition Clarke after they’d both been beaten up). But Bellamy laughs lowly.

“I’m not offering to swap with you, princess. C’mon, we can heads and tail it. Unless you’d prefer to do something else…” He trails off, but there’s a lilt to his voice that means he’s not serious in the slightest. Clarke snorts.

“You’re such a dweeb, Bellamy.”

“Uh-huh.” There’s a few beats of quiet, and Octavia really wishes that she could see both of their faces. “You didn’t have to do it, you know. Join in.” Bellamy says.

“I couldn’t not. You’re all my friends, even Murphy. It’s not my nature to back away.”

“Your face would look better if you did,”

Clarke snorts again. “And your face’ll look worse if you keep that up.”

Their voices get fainter as they move towards Bellamy’s bedroom, until Octavia hears the door shut and is left with alone in the quiet, still not quite able to drift off. Raven’s arms tighten around her, and Octavia looks at the woman’s face in shock. Raven is smiling wryly.

“They’re fine. Go to sleep.” Raven whispers, and for some reason Octavia believes her, and is unconscious within a few seconds.

* * *

 

It’s unbelievably strange to see a woman walking out of your brother’s room, even if you know the reason she slept in there. (Which usually, ew, but Octavia will have nightmares for weeks after watching the two of them brawl, so she thinks they – the people actually doing the fighting – deserve a good night’s sleep). But it's especially odd if you know the woman leaving, and in the first moments of blinking confusion forget just why your roommate is bunking with your brother.  

 

Octavia and Raven are awake and watching TV when Clarke and Bellamy emerge. Jasper has joined them on the couch, and they all have cereal and are eating it sleepily. Jasper's doesn't make it to his mouth half of the time, but slips off of the spoon when he starts to drift off. 

 

Clarke is the first to walk out, bedraggled and sleep mussed, and Bellamy is on her heels (and he’s back to being shirtless, which is no surprise. Clarke’s wearing her tiny PJ shorts as well, so they look quite the pair). Jasper’s eyes widen and he almost chokes on his cornflakes. They both look worse for wear, what with Clarke having a nice purple bruise along her brow bone, and a scabby cut right through that; and Bellamy’s nose is still red and his cheek is swollen. Clarke windmills her arms and groans.

 

“I’m never going out with you people again,” She says, and she sounds serious. 

 

Bellamy rolls his eyes and bumps their shoulders together, which makes Clarke stumble and glare up at him.

 

“I seem to remember a lot of stories about you and Raven that ended up the same way.” He says, smirking. Clarke shrugs and directs herself to the kitchen. 

 

Bellamy slumps onto an armchair, running a hand through his hair. Clarke calls from the kitchen, asking if anyone wants coffee. There’s a mixture of results, including Miller’s bedroom door opening and Monty tripping out. He blinks owlishly at all of them. His hair is pushed back from his face and sticking up like porcupine quills. Octavia makes an 'aw' noise before she can stop herself.

 

“I heard coffee.” He mutters, taking the space next to Jasper on the sofa and stealing his cereal. He doesn't try to smooth down his hair. Miller is slower to appear, and when he does he doesn’t look happy about it. He raises his eyebrows at Bellamy then heads straight for the kitchen.

 

The morning passes slowly. Sunlight streams in through the windows, colouring the living room yellow and heating it up. They’re all still in their pyjamas, drinking coffee and eating bowls of cereal. Clarke and Bellamy are sharing a chair and have one big bowl between them for some reason (Octavia knows that the boys have enough bowls in the apartment, so she can only put it down to the fact that when Clarke asked Bellamy to get them some breakfast he couldn't be bothered making up two bowls). They must have become best friends last night, because usually Bellamy threw a fit whenever someone touched his food. But right now Bellamy holds the bowl and he and Clarke idly take it in turns to scoop the cornflakes out with their spoons. Bellamy makes a little noise of protest whenever Clarke has two goes, but otherwise they're disturbingly passive towards each other. (Until Bellamy slaps Clarke's wrist and they have a fight with their spoons). 

 

It’s maybe a quarter to two when Murphy makes an entrance. His face is swollen and puffy, and he looks like absolute shit. Emori is just behind him, holding his hand. They both look like they slept very little (which is something that Octavia does not need to think about, thank you very much). Emori is wearing one of Murphy's t-shirts, and her hair is hanging over part of her face. 

 

Clarke gets to her feet immediately, placing her fingers under Murphy’s chin and turning his head about. Murphy tries to protest, but nearly everyone in the room shushes him. He rolls his eyes. Clarke peers closely at the darker scabs on his face, and Octavia nearly gags when she sees the stitches. Clarke turns to Bellamy and says something with her eyebrows, and Bellamy responds with a grunt. Clarke rolls her eyes and guides Murphy into the kitchen.

 

Raven offers Emori a coffee and some cereal, and the girl accepts gladly. She squeezes onto the couch by Octavia, her face unsure. Octavia squeezes her hand (making sure to go for the real one, because she’s made  _that_ mistake before). After a few minutes Clarke and Murphy reappear. Clarke takes her place practically on Bellamy’s lap (which raises eyebrows all around), and Miller slides out of the other arm chair and onto the floor, giving Murphy space to lower himself onto the cushion carefully.

 

They all look a mess, all of them hungover, and some of them bruised. But it doesn’t matter much now in the light of day. Octavia looks around slowly, at her bizarre collection of friends. It’s strange to think that she’s know Clarke for little over six weeks, and Raven less than that. The two women fell into their group seamlessly. As she’s looking Raven jeers something at Clarke in Spanish, and Clarke responds with the two-fingered salute. At Bellamy’s questioning look, Clarke explains;

 

“Raven reminded me that last night I called myself an almost-doctor.”

 

Emori ducks her head bashfully while the rest of them laugh. Raven had been let onto the almost-doctor joke pretty quickly, and now Clarke seemed to use the title almost unconsciously – much to the amusement of everyone else.

 

“Yeah, well.” Clarke huffs, blowing her hair out her eyes. Bellamy pulls a face when it flies into his cheek instead. “Next week we’ll just play monopoly and there’ll be no doctoring at all. Almost-doctor or not.” She finishes, elbowing Bellamy as he tries to pass the strands back over her shoulder to her.

 

They all laugh, even Murphy – though he does look slightly embarrassed – and together they sit back and spend the whole day watching shitty day-time TV and low budget films.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i said that this chapter would be halloween related, and from now on i'm going to stop saying what will happen next because as soon as i sit down to write the next chapter a plot jumps out of nowhere and mugs me. i hope that you liked the chapter, even if Octavia did miss out on most of the action bc she was too busy running away.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia learns that art is serious business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first if all, thank you to my wonderful beta readers; lushatrocity, jahawellss, and sassyduchess, without who this fic would be much less easy to read and would have so many run on sentences i might've well just not put in full stops. (baes, the lot of you). and thank you everyone else who commented and kudos'd!

The end of October comes around alarmingly fast, bringing with it a slew of exams and tests that Octavia is no way prepared for. Clarke isn’t around a lot because she’s usually in the forest somewhere, trying to ‘capture the beauty of autumn’ (‘stop fucking laughing at me, Octavia. Orange is a wonderful colour’), and when she does turn up at the dorm, she’s covered in paint and has really muddy boots. Octavia doesn’t know where Clarke actually goesto when she disappears all of those times, but she sometimes doesn’t come home for a few days at a time. Raven had shrugged when Bellamy had asked, but everyone had been concerned because Clarke had missed their Friday night out – even Raven. Truthfully, Octavia thinks that Raven is just as in the dark about Clarke’s foresty sojourns as everyone else is.

Octavia has been out of her morning class for barely two minutes when Raven appears at her shoulder. She grins at Lincoln, sharp and slightly terrifying, her eyes travelling along the arm that he’s got around Octavia’s shoulders.

“Hey,” Raven says, her voice nowhere near casual. Octavia feels her eyes widen, and she has to turn her head to hide her smirk.

“Hey…?” Lincoln replies, his eyes darting between Raven and Octavia. Octavia tries to shrug as subtly as she can. She has no idea why Raven ambushed them after class, but she knows perfectly well what she’s doing.

“So, Pocahontas, you ready?” Raven asks, leaning on her crutches like she always does. Octavia raises her eyebrows.

“For what?”

“We’re going _shopping_ ,” Raven widens her eyes and tries to look excited, “Because it’s nearly _Halloween,”_ She wiggles her fingers and her eyebrows.

“I’ll uh, leave you to it then, Tav,” Lincoln says glad to have an exit away from Raven. He’s taken to shortening her name down to _Tav_ , and oh god, Octavia loves it when he calls her that. Normally she doesn’t like anything but ‘Octavia’ or ‘O’, but she nearly fainted at the sound of Tav coming out of his mouth (He’d taken her to the cinema and then leant over to her and asked in a really low, husky voice to ‘pass the popcorn, Tav’. It was sexier than it sounds, honest).

 Raven turns her grin back to him, and honest to god, Lincoln nearly balks. For a second he looks like he’s about to kiss her, then he glances at Raven and thinks better of it. He mutters a goodbye to Raven and tells Octavia that he’ll text her later. Octavia turns to Raven, thoroughly unimpressed.

“Great, you scared off my-” Octavia cuts herself off and bites her tongue (because Lincoln was her _what_ , exactly?). Raven’s grin loses most of its sharpness, and she sighs.

“C’mon, it’ll sort itself out eventually.” They both look at Lincoln’s retreating form. Raven’s smile brightens, “I was being serious about the shopping thing, though. We have costumes to buy.”

Octavia perks up at that, because _Halloween_. It’s always been her favourite holiday. When she was a kid, Bellamy used to take her around the local houses - even when he was older and got invited to parties instead. She knows he went out after she’d gone to bed, but Octavia still cherishes the fact that he’d rather spend most of his Halloween with his little sister than having fun with his friends (and maybe she feels bad about it too, but it was Bellamy’s choice and Octavia loves him for it)..

“Is Clarke coming?”

Raven nods, “Mhm. She’s dragged herself from the damn forest to see to Murphy’s face.” She shakes her head slightly, and when she speaks she sounds tired. “I honestly didn’t think it’d happen again.”

Octavia snorts, then pauses. “What, you mean Clarke emerging from the trees?”

“No, her going into them again.” Raven says, and her tone of voice makes it sound like she’s talking about a toddler who keeps stealing cookies. “We ended the road-trip here in WA, so when I flew back to Princeton to tie some ends up Clarke stayed here and lived in the woods for a month like some sort of fucking ewok.” Raven rolls her eyes. Octavia purses her lips, because a month is a hell of a long time.

“A whole month in the forest? Was she _alone_?”

“Yup. She’s a crazy one, that Clarke.” Raven huffs, “It was her fucking idea to spend most of the year trapped inside her damn car.”

“You spent a _year_ in her car? What?” Octavia asks, alarmed and thoroughly confused. Raven looks at her strangely.

“Yeah, our road-trip,” She says slowly, “I thought Clarke told you about that.”

Octavia splutters, “Yeah, she told me you went for a trip, she didn’t say that it took a _year_.”

“Well, it was nine months. We took off in December and finished when I went back to Jersey.”

“That’s- that’s ridiculous, Raven. You can’t have lived in a car for nine months!” She protests. Raven tilts her head and eyes her strangely.

“What is it about this that you’re not grasping, Octavia? We met again in a café after the whole two-timing thing, I had my duffel, and Clarke…” Raven trails off, and meets her eyes with an intensity that almost makes Octavia’s water. “Alright, listen: don’t do this shit, okay?”

“What shit?” Octavia frowns.

“The whole digging for information thing. Yeah, I know you want to get close to Clarke, but seriously, just ask her. It’s not my place to go spilling all her secrets.” Octavia is about to kick up a fuss when Raven gives her a _look_. One that says ‘maybe you’re not doing it now, but we both know perfectly fucking well that you do it all the time’.

Octavia looks down at her feet and feels shame flooding through her, heating her cheeks to almost nuclear levels. Raven makes a strange noise in her throat.

“If you start crying, I’m leaving,”

Octavia scoffs and looks back up. “I’m not going to fucking _cry_ , Raven. I just didn’t…”

“Realise that it doesn’t take a genius to see what you’re doing?” Raven smirks and rolls her eyes. “I’m not mad - why the fuck would I be? But you need to stop trying to be so 007 about it. You wanna know something; _ask her_.”

Octavia shrugs, her cheeks still uncomfortably hot. “I doubt that will work. You weren’t there the time Clarke decked Bellamy.”

Raven snorts. “That’s because Bellamy’s a massive douche who doesn’t know when to draw a fucking line. Clarke isn’t fragile, Octavia. Christ,” She looks skyward, “You’re all fucking children, I swear. Now, _c’mon_. Clarke’s waiting by her car.”

Octavia trails after Raven, feeling like she’s just been double-teamed at Parent’s evening by the teacher and her mother. Raven, as per, doesn’t seem bothered, and smirks whenever she looks back at her.

“Dude, seriously?” Raven mutters as they cross the tarmac to where Clarke is leaning against the side of her car, and Octavia hesitates for half a second. Octavia shrugs, because what else is she supposed to do? Clarke spots them as soon as they get close, and she’s wearing one of the fiercest scowls ever. Even Raven pauses.

“What crawled up your ass and died?”

Clarke breathes heavily through her nose and jerks her head towards Octavia. “Her fucking brother, and the fact that he’s a massive fucking _dick_.”

“Oh,” Octavia says quietly. Raven snickers.

“Not just that though!” Clarke says, moving around to the driver’s side, “There’s also the fact that when I went to pick up an oil painting from the drying room I found that someone had spilt. White. Fucking. _Paint_ all over it. A week of work, fucking gone!” She shouts, running a hand through her hair almost viciously.

“What about all the ones you did in the great outdoors?” Raven asks, claiming shotgun and sliding into the front. Octavia gets into the back wordlessly, unsure of what to say without Clarke blowing up further (Raven doesn’t seem to care much about setting Clarke off). Raven passes her crutches back to Octavia, her eyes on Clarke. Octavia has learnt that Raven _really_ doesn’t have time for dramatics.

“They’re all landscape studies, pencil and watercolour. Small pieces that won’t get graded individually. But the big piece!” Clarke fires the car up, and they almost rocket out of the parking space. Octavia squeaks and flails around as she tries to get herself belted up. Clarke doesn’t seem to notice.

“And my model’s dropped out and fucked of back to Montana. _Montana_. I asked Bellamy if I could borrow him and he fucking _laughed_ at me!” Clarke takes a corner almost savagely, and as a car tries to cut her off she speeds up and flips the driver off out of the window. “I asked him as nicely as I could, and explained how much a big help he’d be, but still _no_!”

“Couldn’t you just ask someone else?” Octavia asks tentatively. Clarke laughs.

“If only! Ashton - the guy who went back to Montana - has the same build and colouring as your brother, so all of the prep pieces I’ve done would still count. And he didn’t even tell me he was leaving, just fucking dropped out! Upped and left! So I have to find someone who looks like him or I’m _literally_ fucked. I’ll have to start again, which is two months of work that I don’t have time for – because there’s a week left until it’s all due in!”

“Did you-”

“Yes, I _told_ him that. Didn’t make the fucking slightest bit of difference. He said no, then asked if I could take Murphy’s fucking stitches out.” Clarke snarls. She looks like she’s not being sleeping, and as she’s been in a tent for the past week, she probably hasn’t been. Her hair is in a really tangled plait, and she’s not wearing a single trace of make-up. Her clothes are rumpled, her jacket has mud on the elbows, and her jeans have grass stains on the knees. Raven turns on the radio on, and obviously the song isn’t one of Clarke’s favourites because she jabs the ‘off’ button after only a fraction of a second.

Raven rolls her eyes skyward, as if she’s searching for answers that only the roof of the car can give her. Octavia looks out of the window, biting her lip. She assumes now that they’re taking a quick detour before shopping to her brother’s place. She really doesn’t fancy mediating another of Clarke and Bellamy’s tiffs.

“I mean, this is my fucking mid-terms, you know? A great big chunk of my grade! And he fucking laughed!” Clarke carries on. She deepens her voice for the next part, furrowing her eyebrows and turning her lips down “’Can’t you just pay someone for that? Ask someone else.’”  She says in what’s obviously and approximation of Bellamy’s voice. Octavia has to suck in her breath to stop from laughing (because this shit is serious, but Clarke’s impression of her brother needs some definite work).

Raven throws her hands up in the air, “For fucks sake, Griffin, ask him again! Jesus!” Clarke scowls at her best friend and ignores her for the rest of the drive.

They make the best time to Bellamy’s apartment ever, and Clarke’s mood only grows darker as they get closer. Then they can’t find a parking space outside the building because Emori’s over and her car is where they usually park. That doesn’t make anything better.

When they do finally find a place to park, Clarke gets out and then slams the car door shut so hard that the whole vehicle shakes. Octavia scrambles out, after passing Raven her crutches, and bolts towards the buildings door before Clarke can get even more irritated. She doesn’t send Bellamy a text to say that they’re there, because she wants the chance to sit him down and shout at him before he can escape (because she’s totally on Clarke’s side for this. How difficult is it to sit still for a little while someone paints you? God).

She holds the door open for Clarke and Raven, and takes the stairs a bit quicker than she normally would. Octavia opens the door to Bellamy’s apartment and bursts in. He’s sitting on the couch with Wick, both of them pretty invested in whatever video game they’re playing. Bellamy jerks his chin up but doesn’t look away from the TV screen.

“S’up, baby sister,”

“You’ve got about thirty seconds, Bellamy,”

“What?” He pauses the game and Wick protests loudly, a picture of indignation.

“Hey, that’s cheating!”

Bellamy waves him away. “Shut up. What’re you talking about, O?”

“Where’s Murphy?” Clarke asks as she walks through the door. Bellamy’s eyes widen as he catches sight of her – and her foul mood. Octavia widens her eyes at her brother and tries to convey what’s happening. He doesn’t get it. (It works when she does it with Clarke)

“In his room with Emori,” Wick says, his eyes flicking to the open door. They seem to brighten when he sees Raven (Octavia suppresses a groan). “Hey, Reyes,”

“Wick,” Raven replies, a bare hint of a smile on her lips. She lowers herself into an arm-chair and lands with a huff. Wick smirks.

“If you wore the brace I designed, you’d be fine.”

Raven snorts, “That brace – like everything you make – is a piece of shit.” Wick doesn’t look offended, but beams at Raven – who rolls her eyes and tries to hide her own smile. (Is this how engineers and mechanics flirt? Because it’s really fucking weird).

Clarke has stripped off her jacket and thrown it over the back of the Raven’s chair, and is digging in her bag for her kit. She looks up at Octavia.

“Can you get Murphy to go to the kitchen for me?”

Octavia nods, but she’s not sure if it’s a good idea to leave Clarke alone with Bellamy (Raven and Wick don’t count as being there, because they’re still talking and are lost in their own little techno-babble world). But she does as she’s asked and heads for Murphy’s room. She knocks on the door and - trying to blank out any noises she hears – tells Murphy that Clarke’s there to do his face.

Back in the living room Clarke has her medical kit open and is flicking through several packets. Bellamy is looking at her as if she’s trying to figure something out.

“Y’know,” Clarke begins casually, but the tone of her voice has Octavia worried. Raven too, apparently, as her conversation with Wick trickles away. “I said that Murphy should get the stitches out after a few days. Given that it’s been over a week I thought you’d done the sensible thing and taken him to the doctors.” Her tone is light, but when she looks at Bellamy, Clarke’s face is dark. Bellamy sneers at her, the reaction coming almost instantly. Octavia takes a step back and holds her breath.

“Excuse me, princess, for taking up so much of your precious time. Next time, I’ll make sure to use another backstreet doctor.”

“I’m not a fucking _backstreet_ doctor, Bellamy.” Clarke snaps.

“Oh sorry, I forgot! Backstreet _almost_ doctor!” Bellamy laughs nastily, holding his hands up. Murphy walks in during the confrontation, holding hands with Emori. (Holding hands is their favourite thing to do now they’re actually a couple).

“And here I thought this was all about me,” He says, smirking. Clarke glowers at him, taking his arm and steering him towards the kitchen. Emori takes a seat by Wick, her eyes wide. Bellamy huffs and turns back to his game, starting it without telling Wick – who yelps and scrambles for his controller.

“Okay, what the fuck was that?” Emori asks, looking over at Octavia. Octavia shakes her head and sighs.

“Bellamy’s a dick.” Raven says succinctly. Bellamy throws down his controller and turns to Raven with a scowl. Emori and Wick both lean further back into the couch to avoid being caught by the imaginary daggers Bellamy’s throwing past them to Raven.

“What the fuck did _I_ do?” He demands. The sounds of his game carry on, and Wick pauses it silently, his eyes flickering between Raven and Bellamy. Raven sneers at him.

“She asked you for help and you fucking _laughed_ at her.” Raven snaps.

“She wanted to paint me, how’s that fucking helping her?” Bellamy grinds out.

“Clarke’s an art student, Bell.” Octavia tries to be diplomatic, but Bellamy ruins it by interrupting.

“So? Doesn’t mean I’ll fucking pose for her. She can get anyone to do that – just post an ad on Craigslist or something. Not like she can’t afford it.”

“Did you even listen to what she was saying?” Raven asks abruptly. “Or did you just blank out and ignore that she needed you?”

“Like fuck she needs me,” Bellamy snorts, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not exactly model material.”

(There’s a collective eyebrow raise from everyone in the room, Octavia included, because Bellamy _knows_ what he looks like. He uses it to his advantage often enough)

“Oh, no? Why don’t you go ask why she rang _you_ rather than Miller – who would’ve volunteered _because he’s a nice fucking person_.” Raven flings an arm out towards the kitchen. Bellamy stands up and turns on his heel.

“Maybe I fucking will,” He hisses over his shoulder. Raven smirks as soon as he turns away again.

“Oh my god,” She says quietly, “that was so fucking easy.”

Emori nods in agreement. “Octavia must have had it so easy as a kid; a few words and you get what you want.”

Wick looks openly horrified. “You did that on purpose? Just to get him to help Clarke?” Raven grins at him and he shudders. Octavia doesn’t know what to say, so she sits down where Bellamy had been. “Women are monsters,” Wick whispers.

Raven hums, and Emori nods again. They sit in silence for a maybe half a minute before Clarke’s voice cuts through the air like a whip.

“You need something, Bellamy, or are you just gonna fucking stare all day?”

“It’s my house, princess.” Bellamy replies easily. Octavia collapses against the couch like a puppet whose strings have been cut (because, seriously, there was almost a pattern to these things now. A never ending cycle of Bellamy and Clarke battling it out one day then being close to bff’s the next).

“It’s also Murphy’s, and I’m here for him. So kindly fuck off.”

“Christ, why are you so difficult?” Bellamy groans (Octavia can picture the glare Clarke will give him perfectly).

“You haven’t _seen_ difficult, Bellamy Blake.” Clarke snaps.

Bellamy’s laugh isn’t all that kind. “I came in here to see why you wanted my help with your art so bad, princess.” Here he probably crosses his arms and tries to look bigger than he actually is. “With that attitude it’s a wonder you ever get anyone to lend a hand. Why do you even need _me_? Don’t you pay people for this shit? Just hire someone new. Use your damn hedge-fund piggy bank.”

Octavia’s mouth drops open and Raven’s eyes widen. She struggles to her feet, Wick leaping to assist her.

“Abort! Abort!” She hisses to Octavia, and she gets the message. She jumps to her feet and dashes to the kitchen, not sure if she’s ready to see what’s in there (because stitches really aren’t her scene, and neither are nasty arguments between her brother and her friend).

Murphy is sat on the kitchen table, looking as amused as a person can be considering he still has a row of stitches in above his eye. The ones from his cheek are on a saucer and look like a pile of spider legs. His whole face is still an ugly mess, parts of his skin ranging the whole spectrum of colours, and odd parts still swollen. Clarke left him with a list of instructions to make them – and him, because Octavia knows he still has a plethora of bruises under his clothes too - heal faster, but chances are he either lost the list or couldn’t be bothered doing as he was told.

He raises his eyebrows at Octavia as she walks in, then looks at Clarke and Bellamy out of the corner of his eye. They’re stood almost nose-to-nose and Clarke is nearly shaking with anger. They’re by the fridge, almost out-of sight from the doorway, so Octavia has to lean forward to see them properly. Behind her Raven hisses something about stopping them, and Octavia tries to shut her up by flapping her hand.

“Fuck you, Bellamy. Fuck. You. I thought this whole money issue was done.”

Clarke spins on her heel back towards Murphy, and the hurt on her face is there for the whole world to see. Octavia feels her throat tighten immediately at the quiver in her friend’s voice. Bellamy hears it too, and his face crumples.

“Oh fuck, princess,” He catches hold of Clarke’s upper arm and turns her bodily so she faces him. “You know I didn’t mean-”

“Didn’t mean what?” Clarke asks, quiet and harsh, tilting her head up so she can look at him. “Didn’t mean to bring my family’s money into this like you always do?” Bellamy’s hands move, and suddenly both of his palms rest on Clarke’s shoulders. Octavia sees his thumbs start to move and almost chokes. Murphy’s eyes widen and his mouth contorts as he tries to not smirk.

“Yeah, that,” Bellamy replies, his eyes trained on Clarke. “I don’t mean any of it, not really.”

“Why d’you fucking _say it_ then?” She demands, thumping her hands against his chest.

“Why do you?” Bellamy shoots back with a quirk of his lips. Clarke huffs a tiny laugh.

“I take your point,” She drops her head onto his chest and Bellamy rests his chin on her hair. Murphy eyes Octavia, giving up on not grinning (He’s got a bet with Miller about ‘Bellarke’, and Miller is going to be beyond mad that he missed this). Octavia herself is past stunned, and moving into the nearly catatonic range of feelings. Sure, she knows that Bellamy and Clarke are ‘friends’ – they go out together in their group every weekend, and sometimes Clarke will walk with him between classes or sit next to him in the library, but no way did Octavia know that they were at the casual hugging stage.

“I’ll be your damn model, princess – but you’re not getting me naked. You’ll have to buy me dinner first.”

Clarke breaks off into a peal of laughter, ducking her head further into Bellamy’s chest. Bellamy is grinning like he’s just won the biggest toy at a carnival. They break apart after a second, and Octavia dashes out before they can see her.

“Finally,” Murphy’s voice follows her out, “Now can you please take the rest of these out, because I really don’t fancy looking like Frankenstein for the rest of my life.”

Raven is still using Wick as a crutch, and he looks rather pleased about it. Octavia gives them both thumbs up and then flops back down next to Emori.

“They’re both fucking ridiculous.” She picks up a cushion and holds it over her face and tries to breathe deeply. Raven snickers.

“They’re both gonna end up so _fucked_.” She crows. Octavia removes the pillow so she can glare.

“No, they’re not. They’re gonna end up _dead_ because they’re both so stupid. God.”

Emori reaches over to pat her hand. Raven still hasn’t let go of Wick, her arm wrapped around his waist. She ignores Octavia’s comment completely, still grinning.

“Dude, this is gonna be so much fun to watch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ta-da!  
> No Minty this chapter, but i did give you some Memori? anywho, hope you enjoyed it (pls tell me if you didn't, bc then i can fix it)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> halloween shopping and bumping into people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one took so long to get out; i hit a little bit off a block after the last chapter.  
> thanks go, of course, to Adriana, Shan, and Monica for their help fixing this chapter up for public viewing! also to everyone who kudos'd and commented <3 <3

The costume shop they find first is small and pokey and smells like something died in there. It’s called _Wallace’s_ and Octavia gets a bare glimpse of a creepy, white haired old man in a pastel suit before Emori’s behind her with a hand on her shoulder. She mutters something to Raven, moving Octavia behind her and over to where Clarke’s stood with only one foot through the door. Clarke looks around in surprise, then catches sight of the old man and recoils when he smiles oddly and waves. (The way he’s staring at them gives Octavia the impression that he’s the kind of man who collects hair and makes dolls out of it) Clarke links her fingers with Octavia and pulls her out of the shop.

Octavia’s moved to the front of the group as they walk, Emori and Raven leaving the little store last, their faces blank (Octavia gets the feeling that now she’s officially the baby of the group - because she’s at least three years younger than Raven and Clarke, and five years younger than Emori – she’ll be treated like it. It’s not an unusual feeling.) The three girls close in on her slightly, then spread out once they’re away from the row of shops that houses _Wallace’s_. Octavia leads them towards the outside section of the mall, and Clarke walks beside her, looking back at _Wallace’s_ with a delicate frown on her face. She’s not really looking for anything, so she lets her eyes travel over the various store-fronts.

 “Oh my _god_.”

Octavia stops so suddenly, that Clarke crashes into her back and almost sends both of them into a flower bed. She searches for Clarke’s hand, then tugs them both down so they can hide behind the neat row of foliage that separates the outside portion of one of the mall’s more fancy restaurants from the rest of the mall.

Clarke crouches beside her, looking utterly bewildered. Behind them Raven and Emori (because Emori had decided she’d rather go shopping than stay at the apartment and watch Murphy play videogames with Wick and Bellamy) grind to a slow halt.

“Did you find a nice penny, Octavia?” Raven asks slowly, a condescendingly sweet smile on her face. Octavia flips her off and with her other hand motions for them to get down. Emori kneels almost immediately, which is surprising (but she’s looking around suspiciously and her real hand goes to her bag, and Octavia doesn’t like to think what she keeps in there). Raven huffs and rolls her eyes and makes a show of lowering herself. Octavia casts nervous glances over the top of the shrubbery that protects them from being in view from the restaurant.

“O,” Clarke whispers, “Why are we on the floor?”

Octavia grins, unable to keep her excitement to herself.

“Monty and Miller are on a _date_.”

Raven gapes openly, and in one quick movement, Clarke surges up to peer over the greenery. Together Octavia and Clarke spy on their friends’ romantic encounter. Miller has his back to them, but his beanie is off and he’s actually wearing a shirt. They can see Monty, and they can certainly see how flushed Monty’s face is. He’s laughing at something Miller’s saying, and when Miller shifts in his seat, Octavia can see that their hands are linked on top of the table.

Octavia muffles her shriek with her hands and ducks back down behind the plants.

Raven crawls up behind her and tugs on Clarke’s shirt. “ _¿_ _Estan realmente?_ ” She hisses. In the past month and a half, Raven has grown as invested as everyone else in the Monty/Miller relationship. Even Emori looks excited at prospect.

Clarke stays on her knees for a few more seconds, then turns and sinks to the floor with a wide grin on her face.

“ _Se ven ... muy acogedores._ ” Clarke whispers to Raven, winking. Raven gasps excitedly. She tries to move and get a look herself, but Clarke keeps her in place. “Shh, we can’t let them see us!”

“What? Why not?” Emori asks, her eyebrows furrowing. Her hand is out of her handbag, which is a great relief.

“Because they’re on a date.” Clarke says simply, turning and peering over again quickly.

“I don’t see a problem with it,” Raven says airily, “In fact, now I think about it; I’m quite hungry. Fancy some lunch, Em?”

Emori smirks. “Only if you pay,”

“Stop being so mean,” Octavia whispers. “We’re not interrupting them. It took two fucking _years_ for them to get this far.” She tries to shoo them away, and risks another look over the foliage. In that second Monty happens to look away from Miller to the border of the restaurant, and for a fraction of a second their eyes meet. Monty’s chokes on his drink, and Octavia gives up with kneeling.

“Run!” She hisses at her friends, already bolting away from the restaurant. She skids to a halt around the corner, her eyes wide and her back to the wall. Emori and Clarke jog to catch up, and Raven follows at a slower – but still quite speedy – pace, a scowl on her face.

“What the fuck just happened?” Emori demands.

“And why did you have to run? You seem to forget that not all of us can,” Raven complains, stomping her crutches down.

“Monty saw me,” Octavia wheezes. Clarke sighs and rolls her eyes, then links her arms with Octavia. Raven huffs a laugh, leaning her elbows on her crutches. Emori pats her shoulders. Clarke turns and begins to lead their little group away from the date, smirking heavily.

“You’re so bad at this. We need to work on your spying. Here, pass your phone,” She holds her hand out, and Octavia passes the device over warily. Clarke’s face is a picture of absolute mischief as she types away. She passes the phone back after a minute or so, her smirk evolved into a grin.

Octavia looks down at her phone desperately, going straight to her messages and her most recently sent. There’s one to Monty:

_Dibs on maid of honour :*_

* * *

 

The second fancy-dress shop is much bigger, far brighter, and smells a lot less like a geriatric hospital. A girl bounces out from behind the counter as soon as they’re all in the store. She’s pretty, with almost translucent skin and a tangle of black hair that’s braided away from her face. She looks familiar.

“Hi, are you guys looking for Halloween costumes?” She enthuses (the shop is empty apart from them, so Octavia has a sneaking suspicion that the poor girl is just very, very bored, and not actually that into costumes). Octavia blinks, taken aback, but Clarke smiles at the girl and responds easily.

“Yeah, we thought we’d get them before the last-minute rush started.”

“Well, have you got anything in mind?”

“Oh, Maya,” Octavia blurts before she can stop herself, finally placing the girls face. Maya’s head snaps towards her. “Uh, you’re in Jasper’s calculus class.” Octavia finishes, aware that everyone’s eyes are on her (and that she may have just made it pretty obvious to Clarke and co that Jasper has a _major_ crush on the girl in front of them. Not that they wouldn’t be able to tell the moment that they saw Maya and Jasper interact, but still).

Maya looks like a deer caught in the headlights, completely frozen and her eyes wide. Then everything seems to kick back in and she flushes and looks down at her feet.

“Ah, yeah, Jasper.” She glances up at Octavia for a second, tucking her hair behind her ears (her hair is already tucked behind her ears, so Octavia guesses it’s a nervous tick) and squints slightly. “Are you Octavia? I think I met you when you were with Jasper once.”

Octavia tries to lessen the force of her grin, because not only does she remember meeting Maya with startling clarity, but she also gets the feeling that Jasper’s massive crush isn’t all one-sided (honest to god, she means _massive_. Jasper had been psyching himself up as they walked up to the girl, and then came out with ‘top o’ the morning to ya’. Octavia had nearly wet herself on the spot, and had barely managed to nod at Maya before fleeing).

To the side, Clarke is smirking quite openly, as are Emori and Raven. Emori whispers something in Raven’s ear that makes her smirk seem even more mischievous.

“Clarke’s going to be a princess,” Raven declares, flicking her head to Clarke. Her best friend turns to her with a scowl, but Raven, as per, is completely unaffected and beams at Maya. The girl blinks at the force of it.

“We do have several princess costumes, but it’s whether or not you fancy normal-princess or…Halloween-princess.” Maya says, a small, sheepish smile on her face. She’s still blushing pretty heavily, and she seems grateful for the sudden change in topic. She tucks her hair back again.

“Oh, definitely Halloween.” Octavia says, nudging Clarke with her elbow. Maya laughs, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth, and offers to show Clarke to the racks they have of princess costumes, saying that the rest of them can feel free to just look around. Clarke suffers it all rather good-naturedly, letting Maya lead her away with only a flat wave back in their direction. Raven turns to Octavia the second Clarke is out of earshot.

“You know this means that we have to get Bellamy into some sort of prince costume?”

Octavia snorts, because she doesn’t think for a moment that Raven is being serious, until she and Emori are both giving her blank looks. Octavia pulls a face.

“Yeah, as if that’s gonna happen. It’s more likely to rain on the moon.”

“We could always tell him it was Clarke’s idea?” Raven suggests. She moves over to the nearest clothes rack and starts flicking through them, grinning whenever she spots a particularly revealing one.

“What even is going on between her and your brother, though?” Emori asks. Octavia sighs, heaving her shoulders. Raven snickers.

“God knows.”

“I don’t think there’s anything even going on,” Octavia says, closing her eyes (thinking about Bellamy and Clarke gave her a headache). “I mean, you’ve seen them normally, like when they had that spoon fight and cuddled on the same chair. But then, sometimes they’re literally ready to rip each other’s throats out. Course, they got that sorted in the end, but still, they just…”

“Cats and dogs,” Emori says solemnly. A wicked grin crosses her lips, and Octavia can only guess that she’s thinking of herself and Murphy – and look how they ended up; happy as clams. Octavia shudders, because she does _not_ want to see her brother and Clarke travel through the stages that Emori and Murphy went through.

“It’s a good sign,” Raven says idly, “The last time Clarke was like this was Idaho. We spent nearly a month there, and there was investment all around.”

Octavia’s head shoots up, because hadn’t Raven said just that morning that she wouldn’t toss around information about Clarke’s personal life? Raven catches her look and grimaces.

“Yeah, forget I said that.”

Emori clears her throat. “What we really need to do is lock them in a cupboard or something.”

Clarke chooses that moment to walk back over. She raises an eyebrow at their quiet conferring, but the look doesn’t hold much weight, considering she’s wearing a sparkly, diamante tiara. Maya trails after her, her blush now completely faded. Clarke holds up two hangers, displaying two costumes. One is bright pink and puffy, covered layers of sparkling mesh and stripes. The other dress is black and relatively simple – the only ornamentation is the lacing up the front. Raven points to the black one immediately.

“That one. It’s Halloween.” She says, like Clarke would be stupid to even consider the other one. Clarke pouts.

“But I’d look like an actual princess in this one,” She shakes the hanger of the pink one. Emori snorts.

“You want to look like a princess? Strange,” She smirks at Raven, who waggles her eyebrows back. Clarke rolls her eyes.

“I’m going to go try it on, you lot pick something.”

Maya looks at them expectantly. The three of them glance between themselves, shrugging.

“Uh, angel?” Octavia says. Raven hoots.

“You better mean slutty angel, Pocahontas!”

Octavia grins and winks at Raven, which just makes the woman laugh harder. Maya takes pity on her and begins to show her the way to the angel costumes (they have a lot, apparently). As she walks away, Octavia can hear Raven advising Emori that she should be a lady Captain Hook.

“So, have you know Jasper long?” Maya asks, looking away from Octavia to dig through the rack of costumes. Octavia coughs to hide her laugh. Maya was scoping out her competition.

“Yeah, since we were little kids. Monty, too.”

“Oh, I’ve met Monty. He’s nice.”

“They both are,” Octavia says, leaning on the end of the rail. Maya glances back at the tone she uses, fiddling with her hair. Octavia doesn’t say anymore, but just raises her eyebrows. Maya blushes prettily, which more than confirms Octavia’s theory.

“What are you trying to get at, Octavia?” She asks, and Octavia is momentarily taken aback by how firm the girl sounds. But there’s till still the tell-tale pink flush on her pale skin. Octavia grins and moves closer.

“Nothing.” Octavia says, tilting her head. Maya juts her chin out slightly, reacting to Octavia’s tone of voice, “Just that Jasper is just as nice as Monty is. If not more…from certain points of view.” Maya keeps eye contact with Octavia determinedly. She’s taller than Octavia by a few inches, but Octavia has gotten enough practise over the years that a few inches really doesn’t bother her. She grins, and that’s all it takes for Maya’s face to turn superheated. The poor girl looks as if she’s about to combust.

“Oh, god. _Please_ don’t tell him. I really, really like him. But we’re friends; I don’t want to make things weird. And this would _definitely_ make things weird, and then we wouldn’t speak ever again because it’d be majorly embarrassing for us both, and I really don’t want that to happen. ” Maya says in a rush, her words jumbling over each other. She looks around the shop like she’s expecting Jasper to leap out and renounce their friendship at any moment. Octavia feels her face soften.

“Hey, I won’t tell him.” She says softly, “But don’t count him out just yet, okay?” Maya doesn’t look the least bit reassured. Octavia puts on her best smile. “Trust me on this, Maya. Drop some hints next time you see him -  like a fuckton, though, because that boy is _hopeless_.”

Maya looks horrified. She shakes her head.

“I – I can’t just do that!”

“Why not? You chicken?” Octavia teases. Maya looks down at her feet again, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Ah, hell,” Octavia murmurs, resisting the temptation to roll her eyes.

“All of the angel things are here,” Maya says somewhat stiffly, gesturing to the rack and the shelves above it, “I’m going to go help your other friends.”

Octavia nods and holds her hands up, letting the girl go, determined to put ideas in Jasper’s head when she next sees him.

The angel costumes aren’t as slutty as she thinks Raven would like, but she does find a nice, short number, trimmed in white fur. There’s a matching fur headband in place of a halo, and fluffy faux-feather wings. Those, paired up with white knee-high socks and chunky heels, should be suitable for Halloween.

She walks past the changing room on the way back to the front, and Clarke trots out in her black princess dress. It’s tight across her chest and pushes up her boobs so much they almost fall out of the front of it. The effect of it is startling, and it’ll only be compounded upon when Clarke decks herself out for the night. Octavia balks for a second. From the front of the shop, Raven whistles.

“Looking good, Griffin!”

Clarke laughs and twirls, throwing her hands out to the side. “I think I’ll get this one,” she says, looking down at herself.

“You’ll be fighting them off,” Emori shouts. She has a bandana tied around her head and is examining two different shades of face-paint. Octavia nods dumbly as Clarke beams at them all and prances back into the cubicle. She meets Raven by the cash register, her stuff folded over her arm. She knows which one she’s getting, and she’s sure of the size, so she doesn’t bother trying it on. Neither do Emori or Raven.

“Parrot, or not?”

“Parrot,” Raven and Octavia answer at the same time. Emori nods and picks the stuffed orange bird off of the shelf. Maya slips behind the counter and starts to ring up Raven’s outfit first – she’s gone for Wonder Woman, thigh high boots and all. God knows how she’s going to manoeuvre herself in her crutches, or if her brace will even fit under the skin-tight material of the boots.

“Where are you guys going for Halloween?” Maya asks, glancing between them curiously.

“Alpha Mecha Mir usually have a good Halloween party,” Emori says, catching the full brunt of Raven’s disgusted look. She rolls her eyes, “You can’t deprive the girl of her first ever Frat Halloween, Raven.”

“You don’t even go to college,” Raven points out, “How’ll you get in?”

“I do go to college.” Emori says, surprising both of them. “Only part-time though. I’m finishing my high-school diploma.”

“That’s great,” Raven says, completely sincere. Emori beams at her.

“It was John’s idea. He still has a year of his course left, so this year he encouraged me to go back. I actually enjoy it.” She admits, shrugging slightly. (Octavia has to hide her gaping, because she’s never really seen Emori as a person outside of her relationship with Murphy; and now she feels terrible).

Clarke catches up with them as Maya’s bagging up Emori’s pirate outfit, and when it’s Octavia’s turn she leans over the counter slightly, catching Maya’s eyes. The girl doesn’t look cross, just understandably hesitant.

“Jas will be at the party too,” Octavia says conversationally. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind seeing _you_ there.” She winks, and Maya’s hands slip on the register. She tucks her hair behind her ears and clears her throat.

“That’s twenty-two dollars and ninety-nine cents, please.”

Octavia laughs quietly and hands the money over. Clarke looks at her oddly, and Octavia hopes that her face conveys the fact that she’ll tell her later.

* * *

 

On the way back to Bellamy’s so they can drop Emori off, Octavia regales them all with the current situation of Jasper and Maya – and makes them all promise to help her out on Halloween, because she _will_ get something going there. Clarke tells them about how she and Bellamy have managed to work out some sort of timetable for Bellamy to sit for her, then rambles for a good while about lighting and colour schemes (Raven sighs heavily and turns the radio up). The good thing is that Clarke’s driving is a lot saner now she’s not so stressed (Octavia doesn’t reach for the _oh shit_ handle once).

Emori grosses them out by telling them how proficient Murphy is in bed, waving her hands about and trying to describe ‘that thing he does with his tongue’ (Raven and Clarke actually seem nonplussed, but Octavia is so traumatised by the whole event that she clamps her hands to her ears and sings loudly the rest of the way).

Emori gets out of Clarke’s Mercedes with a grin and a wave, clutching her shopping bag to her body. She leans through Clarke’s window.

“So, shall I tell the boys that we’re going to the Frat for Halloween?”

Raven rolls her eyes. “Yeah, tell them.”

“Even Wick?”

Raven flips her off and pulls a face. “Piss off.”

Emori snickers and backs away the car, stepping up onto the sidewalk. Clarke and Octavia wave as they pull away, and Clarke shouts cheerily that they’ll see her at the weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, so Emori wasn't supposed to become an actual, sort of fleshed-out character. It just sort of happened? So did the Jasper/Maya (rip babe you will be missed 3). but w/e, it happened.
> 
> The Spanish is 'are they actually?' and 'they look...very comfortable' (thank you Monica!)
> 
> sorry this is so interlude-ish, but next chapter it's dress-up and party time!!  
> (if you wanna come talk the 100 to me, my tumblr is loseroniousjaha


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween was more fun when Octavia was a kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost a week since the last chapter, and i'm really sorry it's been so long (school and shit, yano).  
> but to make up for it, here's E I G H T T H O U S A N D W O R D S
> 
> (<3 to everyone who kudos'd and commented. You're all babes <3)

Jasper was drunk before they even made it to the party.

He and Monty had both arrived at Octavia’s dorm room tipsy (as tipsy as everyone in the room, if slightly more wobbly), still dressed plainly, Monty clutching a bottle of Pumpkin Spice Shine (As Jasper had predicted, the moonshine sold ridiculously well, despite the weird-ass flavour). Octavia had put down her curlers to let them in, and the boys had both flopped down on her bed, Jasper taking a hearty swig of the Shine.

Raven and Clarke look over curiously. Clarke only has half of her make-up on and already looks smoky and stunning. Raven is fiddling with her new knee brace (it’s smaller and nicer to look at, and Clarke had confided that she’d been given it by _Wick_ , which was an interesting new development). Their music is playing out of Clarke’s laptop, a digital version of one of their dickless road trip CDs.

“What’s up, Jasper?” Clarke asks, putting down her brushes. She wearing her interrogation face – an expression that on anyone else would just look concerned. Jasper mutters something and buries his head in Octavia’s pillow.

Monty pats him on the shoulder. “Maya’s going to be there,” He explains, and Jasper moans.

Raven tilts her head. Clarke had blow-dried her hair and then fluffed it up somehow, so it bounces whenever Raven moves her head. “I’m not seeing how that’s a bad thing,” She says, raising an eyebrow.

Jasper sits up, bringing the pillow with him and hugging it to his chest. He rests his chin on it and just generally looks very pitiable.

“It’s a bad thing because I know I’ll say something stupid and ruin it _forever_.”

Clarke and Raven snort at the same time. Octavia rolls her eyes.

“When I met her you said ‘top o’ the morning’.” She says slowly, making sure he catches every horrific syllable of the phrase, “and yet she _still_ likes you. You’d have to do something pretty major to scare that girl off, Jas.”

Jasper shrugs forlornly and reaches for the bottle again. The girls ignore him and go back to getting ready for the party, chatting idly all the while. Monty still skirts around conversations about him and Miller - even though they’d caught the pair out on an actual _date_. All that they’re able to get out of him is a series of shrugs and a vague statement.

“We’re something, but we’re not a _thing_.”

The other two girls nod like it makes perfect sense, leaving only Octavia and Jasper to wonder what in the hell it means. Raven orders the boys to turn around when it’s time to put on their costumes, and everyone is suitably amused when it turns out that Jasper and Monty are going to be Mario and Luigi, respectively. Raven's new brace lets her slide on the skin tight boots easily, and she even has a golden rope to complete the look.

Jasper strokes Octavia’s wings and giggles when his hand comes away sparkling – they’re all drenched in glitter now, even the boys, and it twinkles whenever light hits their skin.

They stroll across campus to the frat arm in arm, Jasper singing drunkenly all the way. The music blasting from the house can be heard from across the quad, deep and pounding. Raven grins as soon as the bass starts to wash over them. Octavia can feel the sound of it vibrating through her, making her heart start to pound with excitement.

Clarke talks as they walk.

“Bellamy said that they just got there, and that Murphy’s costume is the best thing since sliced bread.”

Jasper giggles. “You haven’t seen Bellamy’s!” They all turn to look at him curiously, and he beams back at them. He tries to tap his nose and misses, tapping his cheek instead. “Is’a secret.”

“Is he a prince?” Raven asks, smirking at Clarke and bumping their shoulders together. Clarke sniffs and pulls her arm from Octavia’s to fix her tiara.

“Why would he be a prince?” Jasper slurs back, then blinks and holds his mouth open. “Oh. _Bellarke_. He should’ve been a prince. That would’ve been fun.”

“It’s still fun,” Monty says, his grin saying that it might even be _more_ fun.

* * *

 

Octavia loses track of people pretty quickly once they’re inside the house. Monty and Jasper spot the booze table and run to it, cheering. Clarke spots someone from her art class and sashays over, winking at Octavia as she disappears. Her fishnets make her legs look a mile long.

From behind her, arms circle around Octavia suddenly, wide palms settling on her stomach to pull her backwards. Her heart tries to leap out of her chest, but then she feels the familiar scratch of stubble on her skin and smiles, tipping back her head.

“Hey,” Lincoln rumbles, dragging his jaw against the pale of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. Octavia grins.

“Hey,” She drawls back, resting her hands on his forearms.

“Yeah, so I’m leaving. Have fun, wear protection, etcetera,” Raven waves and backs away, rolling her eyes all the while. She does make an ‘a-okay’ to Octavia, though.

Octavia turns in Lincoln’s arms, her shoes meaning she doesn’t have to stretch to kiss him. His hold on her tightens, one of his palms slipping to her ass. Both off her hands are on his broad shoulders, and she can feel the heat of his skin.

She leans back so she can see his costume. Lincoln pouts and poses for her (he’s wearing the face that he describes as ‘smouldering’. It really does do a number on Octavia). He’s dressed his uniform from The Ground, black leather and chains (now covered liberally with silver glitter), nearly all of his tattoos on show. Octavia raises an eyebrow.

“What are you supposed to be?”

Lincoln taps his head, pointing out the devil horns stuck above his temples. She laughs, kissing him again.

“Real cute.”

“Anything for you, Tav,”

Octavia goes to kiss him once more, but then a thought crosses her mind, and she stops and grimaces. Lincoln searches her eyes, his hands moving from her behind to her sides, moving constantly, unconsciously checking to see if she’s alright (he’s so caring and kind. Octavia fucking loves it).

“Babe? You okay?”

Octavia nods, chewing her bottom lip. “I’m fine, I just realised that we’re at the same party as my brother.”

Lincoln’s hands still, something close to a frown marring his beautiful face. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

He smirks suddenly, dipping down to kiss her soundly. Octavia protests for a beat, then relaxes into it, her hands curling into the collar of his leather vest. She can feel her heart beat faster and faster, and the heat that she always feels around him intensifies. Right now she’d be willing to skip the party and spend the night with just him instead.

“Lincoln?” She asks warily. Her lips are tingling, like they always do when she’s been kissing him. He’s still close to her, fully in her space, filling every one of her senses with just him. Their lips are bare centimetres apart.

“Then,” he says slowly, pulling Octavia flush to his body and kissing her neck. Octavia gasps, her head lolling so he can get to the spot better. Lincoln speaks against her skin, his words reverberating through her. “We’ll just have to be careful,”

She nods again, dumbly, her eyes falling shut as he brings his tongue into the mix. He bites her, lightly. Then, as suddenly as he arrived, Lincoln disappears. Octavia eyes flash open, and her hand goes to her neck, feeling the heat of the hickey he just left. She can just about see the width of his shoulders disappear through a doorway, and smirks – because if this was the game they’re going to be playing, Octavia is going to fucking _win._

* * *

 

She knows a good share of the people at the party. Arc’s a small city, and nearly all of the kids from her neighbourhood had passed through this college. And it’s a good thing, considering she hasn’t seen any of the people she came with for almost an hour (She’s had several more run-ins with Lincoln, though. He’s got a matching mark on his neck, and for a second Octavia got him so flustered she was sure that their game was at an end. But somehow he’d reeled himself in, kissed her soundly, and dashed off).

She sees Fox (Little Red Riding Hood, basket and all) in the middle of one of the stuffed rooms, her eyes half-closed and her face flushed. Fox has always been a party-girl, so it’s no surprise to see her here, in the midst of a teeming crowd, completely in her element.

“Octavia!” Fox yells, barrelling past people and flinging her arms around her. Octavia stumbles at the impact, her hands going to Fox’s shoulders to steady them both. She can barely hear the other girl over the noise of the party.

“Fox, hi!” Octavia grins, because she actually likes Fox, and had been friendly-acquaintances with her in school. Fox twists and keeps one arm over Octavia’s shoulders, leaning in close so she doesn’t have to shout.

“Hey, you’re friends with the blonde, right?”

Octavia’s eyebrows shoot up. She’s only friends with _one_ blonde, and she didn’t know that Fox’s tastes ran that way.

“If we’re thinking of the same blonde,” She says, eyeing Fox carefully.

Fox grins. “She’s a princess. Blue eyes. Tits out here.” She gestures with her hands, and Octavia has to admit that she’s describing Clarke quite well. Fox laughs at her expression, her hair cascading around her face.

“C’mon. You guys are friends; _introduce me_.”

(This is a dilemma Octavia never thought she’d face: introduce her old class-mate to her new best friend so they can potentially get it on, or cross her fingers and hopes that said best friend manages to work it out with her brother)

“Oh, I can see her now! Let’s go!” Fox moves her hand from Octavia’s shoulder to her forearm, pulling her through the crowd. Octavia hadn’t actually seen Clarke, so she follows Fox somewhat dumbly, bumping into strangers and apologising as she goes.

Until she has to stop.

Because, half hidden under the frat house’s sweeping staircase, MC Hammer is in a deep conversation with someone in tight black pants, a cape, and a triangle pirate hat trimmed with gold cable. The music isn’t as loud in the hallway, letting Octavia process her thoughts for once.

“ _Bellamy_?” Octavia pulls her arm close to her body, jerking Fox back. The girl came tumbling towards her, giggling all the way. She looked the same way as Octavia, her smile growing.

“Your brother is Zorro.” She whispers. Bellamy scowls, pushing up his mask. When he moves his shoulders his cape flaps. Octavia presses a hand to her mouth to hide her smirk.

“I’m a highwayman. Not Zorro.”

“Yeah,” Miller says, looking at her over the rim of his sunglasses. He wiggles his eyebrows and beams. “D’you guys not know the difference?”

“Obviously not,” She says somewhat faintly, her eyes glued to Bellamy. He rolls his eyes but doesn’t look uncomfortable (His costume is probably historically accurate and founded, and Bellamy probably squealed like a child on Christmas morning when he finally got to wear it. He’s such a nerd).

Fox looks between them all, utterly confused, but equally amused. She makes a move to start pulling Octavia again, but is stopped by the sound of heels on the wooden floor and a familiar blonde trotting into view.

“Holy shit, Bellamy, is that you?”

Clarke walks over then, ducking her head so she can peer at Bellamy’s face. “Oh my god, it is! Dick Turpin.” She sounds awed, approaching Bellamy and sidling up to him, looking his costume over. Clarke’s got a red plastic cup in hand, and it's pretty clear that she’s been drinking since they arrived. Her arm goes to Bellamy’s shoulder to steady herself, leaning into him and crossing her legs at the ankles. Bellamy looks more than fine with this, wrapping an arm around Clarke’s waist to stop her from falling.

“Princess,” Bellamy greets, turning his grin on Clarke, who reaches up to tap the tallest spire of her tiara.

“You know it. You gonna rob me, _Dick_?”

Bellamy laughs. “Depends. You got anything worth taking? I heard you gave some idiots in the kitchen a run for their money.”

“Pfft. I _took_ all of their money.” Her hand goes to her chest, her pulling at the neckline of her dress. Bellamy peers down her cleavage and grins (Octavia can only assume that’s where Clarke stuffed all of her ‘winnings’, and not that her brother’s a massive creep).

“Nice.”

“I know. I’d be an amazing target right now, Mr Turpin.” Clarke widens her eyes and grins. Bellamy laughs.

“It’d be ungentlemanly to pick on such an easy target.”

Clarke pulls a face. “I’ll fight you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Fox whispers in Octavia’s ear, tugging on her hand. Octavia wants to groan, but instead she plasters on a smile, catching Clarke’s attention. She’ll leave it up to Clarke to decide.

“Clarke, this is my friend, Fox.”

Clarke looks over at the pair of them, her eyes travelling over Fox’s (admittedly long) legs for a second, and the cleavage that Fox’s costume displays, then flicking to Octavia. She raises her eyebrows; _so?_

Octavia raises her own in return, trying to stress the movement in her features; _so._

Clarke gets the message, her mouth dropping open slightly, then curving into a smile. She doesn’t seem bowled over.

“Fox? Beautiful name,” She drawls, turning her eyes back to Fox putting something into her voice that Octavia can’t quite pin down. But whatever it is makes Fox flutter and Bellamy swallow heavily. Clarke angles her head, no longer looking like a drunk twenty-one year old, (right now she reminds Octavia of every ‘other woman’ that has ever been shown in a film. Sultry and seductive, not a woman you’d ever leave your other half alone with).

But Octavia gets the feeling that Clarke’s efforts aren’t solely for Fox’s sake, because Bellamy looks very interested right now.

Clarke steps away from Bellamy (after murmuring something in his ear that makes him smirk) to the girl, who’s taller than her by quite a bit, but right now Fox seems smaller than Clarke in every way. Octavia backs away, because Clarke is wearing a definite bedroom face, and she doesn’t need to see that.

“You haven’t got a drink, Fox.” Clarke points out. Fox opens her mouth to say something, then stutters over her words. Clarke laughs and takes the girls hand. “We’ll go get you something, then.” Fox nods, and let’s herself be led away. Clarke looks back for a second to throw them all a wink, her eyes lingering on Bellamy longer than anyone else.

“Girls got game.” Murphy’s voice says from behind her. Octavia screams a little, and when she turns around it turns into a laugh, because he’s _Peter Pan_.

Emori is just behind him, her grin wide and proud (she has on her pirate costume, leather coat, parrot, hook and all, and _Jesus_ , she looks so badass). Murphy doesn’t look at all bothered that he’s wearing green pantyhose, or that his shirt is being held together by string, or that he has leaves in his hair. He actually looks quite at peace with it all. The two of them are the best costumed couple she’s seen all night.

“What’re you supposed to be?” He asks her, reaching out to poke the fur headband across her forehead. Octavia scowls and swats his hand away.

“I’m an angel.” She snaps, wiggling her shoulders to make her wings move. “Haven’t you got lost boys to be finding?”

Murphy pulls a face, laughing sarcastically. Emori smirks and wraps her arms around him from behind. Her hook glints dangerously in the flashing lights of the room, and for a heartbeat Octavia is terrified of it (because, seriously, the girl has an actual _hook_ on the end of her arm).

“Where was Clarke headed with Little Red Riding Hood?”

“To find a dark corner, probably,” Miller says, a strange twist to his mouth. Octavia turns around, scandalised, because they went to get a _drink_ (because as much as she realises that Clarke doesn’t really have a sexual preference, the whispering she did in Bellamy’s ear makes it clear what her _preference_ for tonight is).

Emori must see an answer in her face, because she raises an eyebrow and looks around their little circle.

“You two are fucking weird.” She declares, propping her chin on Murphy’s shoulder (he looks ok with the fact that he’s effectively the little spoon). Murphy grins.

“What happened to your plan, Bell: Didn’t carry it through?”

Bellamy’s smirk doesn’t waver, if anything it turns smug. Octavia raiser her eyebrows and looks to Miller, who makes the ‘tell you later’ face.

“It’s a long plan, Murphy. It’s a long plan.”

Emori looks at him curiously. Bellamy sure doesn’t look like a man who’s just had his heart broken by rejection. She seems to hesitate before she speaks, her hand tightening on Murphy’s tunic. Murphy turns his head to look at her and nods.

“I wanted to warn you: Echo’s here.”

He freezes, and Octavia doesn’t blame him.

Bellamy had met her through Emori, so it was safe to say that Echo was just as damaged, but she held none of the softness that Murphy’s girlfriend did. Echo was rage and apathy, wrapped up in a girl sized package, living proof of what the world does to children with no-one to care for them.

But Echo is also everything Bellamy is, and so like him (down to his anarchist heart and penchant for picking fights), that every time they got close enough they exploded. They were so bad for each other that they ruined the other’s life, casual dalliances turning into something more until one of them backed off for good – or for however long it was before they ran into each other again. The two of them meeting always ended in tears (sometimes it was before the sex, but usually it was afterwards). Being around Echo almost made Bellamy someone Octavia didn’t like.

Octavia doesn’t hate Echo. She’s not exactly friends with her, not with how badly she fucks up her brother’s head. But as a person, they almost get along. Octavia can’t hate her for coping with situations in the only way she knows how. It won’t stop her from punching Echo in the mouth if she goes near Bellamy, though.

She can already see the gears in Bellamy’s head whirring, moving to a decision that Octavia can already see on his face. He’s never been able to resist a good fight, and Echo always provides.

Miller’s face falls as he realises the same thing as she does. They both gear up for a fight, to protest against what they know what will happen.

“Bellamy,” Miller says lowly, at the same time Octavia says “Big brother,”

Bellamy looks between them, his face unchanging. Emori winces and hides her face in Murphy’s shoulder.

“I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“We’re all adults, Emori. We can deal with it.” Bellamy states, eyes challenging as he glances at Octavia. She swallows and meets his stare levelly.

“She fucks you up, Bell.”

“So?”

“That’s not fucking _healthy_.”

Bellamy downs the rest of his beer to hide his sneer. Miller catches his arm.

“Hey, shit-for-brains, don’t start falling back into old habits.” He says, his words hard. “Don’t put yourself through this shit.”

“I’m not putting myself through anything. If I see her, I’ll say hi. Get off my fucking back, the both of you.”

Octavia clenches her jaw and has to look away, not at all surprised by the bite of her brother’s words, but hating it anyway. She sees Emori and Murphy slip away out of the corner of her eye, Emori looking back worriedly and Murphy murmuring something to her (Octavia assumes they’re reassurances. How was Emori to know that Bellamy would take the news so badly?).

“ _Bellamy_ ,” Miller stresses. Octavia glances back up to see him looking as worried as she’s ever seen him.

“Fucking leave it,” Bellamy says, shaking his arm out of his best friend’s grip. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh, really?” Octavia demands, folding her arms. She sees the tension in every line of Bellamy’s body. Shifting her weight backwards and softening her stance, Octavia sighs.

“Echo’s no good for you. She never has been.”

“Oh, shit, what have I missed?” Clarke asks as she comes to stand next to Octavia. She’s without Fox, but she has two drinks. She holds a beer bottle out to Bellamy, and he takes it after a second.

Bellamy meets Clarke’s eyes for a bare moment, and in his face Octavia can see shadows of his past with Echo (she knows he’s remembering every good time he had with her, and using them to colour the bad times. She fucking hates that he does this; twists himself up using his own fucked up reasoning).

“Nothing. You missed nothing, princess.” Bellamy says, taking a heavy swig of his beer. Clarke raises her eyebrows and cocks a hip.

“Yeah? It looks like I missed _something_.”

“Well you _didn’t_.” He snaps, the force of his words making Clarke’s face shutter close. She doesn’t take her eyes off him though, her eyes taking on the intensity that means she’s analysing every part of him. Bellamy scoffs.

 “See you later, O.” He mutters, turning his back on them all and striding away. Clarke tosses a look at Octavia before she takes off after him, leaving her standing with Miller, both of them already knowing what’s going to happen.

* * *

 

Octavia takes Miller’s advice to skirt around the situation for a while, so she searches for Monty instead, and finds him with a cluster of his engineering friends, sprawled out on a couch. His eyes are bright, and he offers her a flask. She takes is as she flops down next to him, settling in close.

“It’s Peach!” He confides, bending his head towards her so they don’t have to shout. His moustache has slipped and is now wonky, which only makes him cuter.

“Have you seen Miller yet?” Octavia asks after handing the flask back (she can barely feel the burn of it any more). She wiggles her eyebrows and nudges him with her elbow.

Monty shakes his head, smiling. “No. Wait yes, I have. We made out in a coat cupboard. It was fun.”

Octavia throws back her head and laughs. Monty rushes to cover her mouth with his hands.

“Shh!”

She fights him away, still laughing, and holding his hands in her own. “Why?”

“We made out because-”

“No, Monty, why do I have to ‘shh’?”

“Oh. Because Nathan says we shouldn’t tell so many people.”

Octavia frowns. “But I already know. Most people already know.”

“His dad doesn’t.”

“Oh, Monty…” Octavia breathes, her smile dropping completely. Monty shrugs.

“I mean, my parents don’t either, but they know that I’m gay. Sherriff Miller doesn’t know it about Nathan.” His grip on her hands tighten, and his gaze drops to his knees. Octavia can literally feel her heart breaking. “I don’t mind that much, because I’m with him, so it doesn’t matter. But…”

“It matters,” Octavia finishes. Monty nods. Right now she wants to find Miller and beat him into the ground.

“S’harder for him, though. His dad’s _Sherriff_ , and Nate’s in the Academy. Police and stuff.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to be a secret, Monty. It’s not fair.”

Monty’s reply is to take another swig of Peach Shine. Octavia rests her head on his shoulder, transferring glitter from her cheek to Monty’s overalls. He smiles.

“Nathan said we’ll do it at Christmas. We’ll go to my house first, because they already know, and then to the Millers.”

“Make sure he keeps to that, Mon. You deserve better than to be a secret.” Octavia kisses his cheek sloppily, leaving a pink kiss mark.

Monty grins toothily at her. “Course I do. I’m _amazing_.”

“Damn fucking _right_.”

They giggle, and the conversation moves quickly onto Jasper and Maya. Monty tells her that the pair have been joined at the hip since Maya arrived, and that Jasper almost fell down a flight of stairs in his eagerness to get to her. They’re starting to make bets on whether or not Jasper will ask her out tonight when she sees Bellamy.

He stumbles through the door at the far end of the room, cutting a striking figure with his costume on, followed by Echo.

Echo looks as good as she normally does, in short-shorts and ripped tights, her hair un-brushed and a thick ring of black around her eyes. She’s the embodiment of grunge, and Octavia feels her nose turn up just at the sight of her. She doesn’t need a costume to look Halloweenish. (She looks like she’s been on a weekend long bender and slept in a gutter for most of it).

Octavia stops listening to Monty’s rambling about his best friend, her eyes tracking Bellamy instead. As she’s watching, Bellamy whirls on Echo, cupping her face and pushing her against the wall to kiss her. Octavia can feel bile rising in her throat, and Monty stops speaking, staring with an open mouth.

“That’s Echo.”

Octavia stands up and brushes herself off.

“Yeah. That’s Echo.”

She squeezes Monty’s hand one last time before she flees, leaving him with his engineering friends. She takes a different doorway to the one Bellamy and Echo are lingering by, not even risking a glance at them in case she vomits. The room she ends up in is quite obviously a TV room, with the couches pushed to the walls and a pale square on the wall where the television used to be (Octavia isn’t sure whether it’s been stolen, or if the frat boys had the forethought to take it from a potential danger zone).

Clarke takes centre stage on the coffee table, her hands above her head and swinging her hips to the low beat of the music. Her eyes are open and she looks over the room slowly. Octavia blinks when their eyes meet, but Clarke grins. She holds out her hands and shouts, gesturing for Octavia to join her.

Cheers start up around her, and hands start to push her towards the centre of the room. Octavia throws caution to the wind and flows with the movement. She takes Clarke’s hand and steps up onto the coffee table, already trying to copy the way Clarke’s moving. Clarke sings along to the music lowly, joining their hands and holding them up high. Somehow they end up facing each other, their fronts brushing as they move.

(It’s the kind of dancing they do I clubs; close and sweaty. Clarke and Raven excel at it, sexy enough that every movement is eye-catching. Octavia’s doing her best to learn, and from the whistles in the crowd she guesses she’s doing okay)

Until Clarke stops completely, her eyes on the door. Octavia stumbles to a still as well, trying frantically to see what spooked Clarke. She thinks she catches sight of a highwayman’s hat and ratty brown hair before people cover up her line of sight.

Her stomach drops as Clarke holds her hands out to quiet the crowd. She grins, but it’s not the kind Octavia’s used to (it’s the kind of smile she imagines Clarke giving before she lashes out – the one Dax probably got before Clarke smashed his face in).

“Body shots!” She yells. The roar of the crowd is near deafening. Octavia jumps off the table, and her place is quickly taken by Fox – who’d been in the front row to her and Clarke’s display. She tries to weave through the mass of people, but gets buffeted on all sides. She shoves someone when they palm her ass, snarling at everyone around her (She really gets why Raven hates frat parties now).

She makes it to the doorway eventually, turning back to see Clarke laid flat on the table, Fox hovering over her. Octavia bites her lip and forces herself away, trying to ignore the calls of _Drink! Drink!_

* * *

 

Octavia hits the booze table pretty hard after that, knocking them back to try and dislodge the god-awful taste in her mouth. At this point, the moment if she see Echo again she’ll probably start swinging (whether Bellamy’s there too or not).

Lincoln’s been pretty scarce, so she hangs around Jasper and Maya (the most precious witch you’ve ever seen), who are so cute and adorable that it’s nauseating. Jasper forgets himself a lot, becoming a boy that’s too loud and boisterous for a girl like Maya Vie to like (but for some reason, Maya only seems to become more interested when Jasper lets that side of him free. It shouldn’t work, the two of them, but for some reason it does; both of them inept and innocent in different ways).

Octavia’s probably the worst wingman in the world right then; too drunk and too sour to enjoy the view of something starting right in front of her, so it’s a good job that Jasper’s coping without her. Every thought leads her to Bellamy and Echo, and the inevitable mess that will leave.

A guy dressed like a magician taps her on the shoulder with his wand, telling her that angels should be happier.

“Why don’t you give me a smile, babe?” He asks, waving the wand in front of her face. Octavia backs away from it, her face dark.

“How about no?” She retorts. For some reason, the magician sees this as an invitation to try harder. He taps her again with the wand.

“C’mon; one little smile! I’m sure you have a wonderful smile. Among other things.” He leers at her and Octavia snaps.

She snatches the wand from his hand and smashes it over her knee, splintering the wood into two pieces. The magician gasps, stepping away. His face is an absolute picture.

“You bitch! I got that wand from the Wizarding World of Harry Potter!”

Octavia smiles nastily, brandishing the pieces in his face. “Yeah, well, come near me again and this wand will end up your fucking _ass_.” She throws the pieces near his feet and is tempted to spit. She’s vaguely aware of Maya and Jasper hovering in the background (and no doubt Maya is absolutely horrified), but right now she couldn’t give a damn. She shoulders past the magician roughly, hard enough to make him crash into the next closest person.

Octavia makes it to the back porch, somehow not bumping into anyone else, and the tangible cloud around her scaring people away. There’s a spot free on the railing, and Octavia reaches for it, putting all of her weight on her forearms as she stares out into the manicured garden of the house. The night air hits her hard, the sudden chill welcome. It washes away some of the shit, but there’s still a great big knot in her stomach. People are all around her, gathering and having fun. Couples and friends, all far removed from her personal pit of anger.

Before school started, she’d had this year nearly all planned out. Good things would happen and bad would stay away. Miller would notice Monty. Octavia would pass all of her classes. Bellamy might meet a nice girl – or person – and would be happy for once.

She hadn’t even considered meeting someone like Clarke, who would worm her way into Octavia’s life so quickly, and bring with her another person for Octavia to befriend. It was a factor she’d never considered. Clarke could fight and talk and paint, every imperfection she had, a positive. A beautiful stranger with a hidden past and a plethora of stories.

Why couldn’t Bellamy go after _her_ , rather than backing up into the toxic relationship he has with Echo?

Octavia wants to scream, is about to, when she feels a shoulder bump with her own. She turns her head quickly, fire in her eyes.

Raven raises her eyebrows. There’s green on her neck, and traces of it on her lips.

“Whoa, Octavia. What’s got you all wound up?”

Octavia looks back out the garden. Raven doesn’t say anything for a while, her arm not moving from Octavia’s. She sighs heavily.

“I saw Bellamy getting pretty heavy with some girl back in the house.” She says, as casual as you like.

Octavia flinches away from the news, her fingers curled so tightly around the railing that her knuckled turn white.

“Echo.” She bites out. Raven’s face is understanding (she’s only three years older than Octavia, but she seems to know so much more about _everything_. It’s frustrating).

“Well, shit.” She breathes. “Do we need to start something?”

“Something’s already started.”

“Oh. Bad?”

“Fucking terrible.” Octavia takes a swig of the drink she doesn’t remember getting. Raven’s eyebrows inch higher, and she snatches the red cup form Octavia’s hands.

“Might wanna go easy there, Pocahontas; you’re looking a little green around the gills.”

Octavia would protest, but Raven actually _has_ green around her gills. She tells her so.

Raven looks as close to sheepish as Octavia has ever seen her, bringing up a hand to rub at the colour. Its face paint, from what she can see, and transfers from Raven’s neck to her hand quite easily.

“That _asshole_ ,” Raven swears quietly, trying to scrape the paint off her hand and onto the railing.

“I don’t know what to do.” Octavia admits, after telling Raven everything – even the bit about her thinking that it was Bellamy and Echo that made Clarke start on the body shots – watching her friend with a weird sort of detachment. Raven laughs.

“About what?”

“Bellamy and Clarke.”

Raven huffs and rolls her eyes, bumping their shoulders together again. Octavia frowns.

“Why d’you have to do anything? People will do what they want, Octavia. There’s nothing we can do to stop that.” Octavia looks down at her hands (because Raven is the _worst_ motivational speaker ever). Raven catches the look and laughs.

“ _But_ , tonight is only one night. So maybe Clarke gets off with that girl, and maybe Bellamy does the dirty with that Echo chick. What does it matter? It won’t mean much to either of them, trust me.”

“But Echo-” Octavia protests. Raven cuts her off firmly.

“Might be the ex from hell, the one who fucks you up so badly, and so well, that you can’t pass them up. But Bellamy’s Bellamy. You say they do this a lot, and he always gets out. He’s not stupid.”

“Wanna fucking bet?” Octavia grumbles, hunching her shoulders. Raven shrugs.

“I haven’t got answers for you, O. I don’t doubt that it’ll be messy, but anyone can see that Clarke and your brother have a _thing_ between them. Fuck knows what it is, and maybe Clarke’s too scared to really do anything about it, but when has Bellamy ever backed down from a fight? He’ll go after her, sure as anything. Just let them do it themselves.”

Octavia doesn’t say anything else, tussling with Raven for the plastic cup. Raven clearly lets her win. She takes a steadying draught, feeling Raven’s eyes on her. In an act of affection that probably surprises them both, Raven kisses her on the forehead.

“Let them be idiots together, kay?”

* * *

 

Octavia feels better after her talk with Raven, but she stays out on the porch for a while after Raven heads back into the house – muttering about finding someone and murdering them (A breeze has picked up outside, and as she’s walking away a small gust picks up her skirt Marilyn Monroe style, revealing that Raven has green on her thighs as well).

She’s only been in the house for a few seconds when a drink is pushed into her hands by a smiling boy. Octavia is close to punching him when she realises his smile is not leering, and that the boy’s about as threatening as a new-born baby.

Octavia remember his face from high school – his name was Milton, or something. Myles? – had been in a few of her science classes, eager to please and the always full of bumbling excitement. The kid (she’s gonna go with Myles) sidles up next to her and grins. Octavia, to her surprise, lets him, thanking him for the drink as she does. (In her head she hears _everyone_ chanting to her about the dangers of accepting drinks off strangers, but Myles is probably the kind of kid who feels bad after tricking his dog into eating its medicine).

“Oh, man. I’ve seen so much weird shit tonight.” Myles holds up his hand so he can tick off each point on his fingers, “Luigi making out with MC Hammer, Peter Pan grinding with Captain Hook, Frankenstein’s monster getting pulled into a bathroom by Wonder Woman,” He snickers.

(Octavia wonders idly if it was Raven who was pulling around the monster, because that would certainly explain the green paint. It was _definitely_ Monty and Miller who were making out, no question about it. She didn’t have to wonder about the Neverland pair). She raises the cup Myles had given her to her lips, taking a sip of what tastes like vodka and sadness (but Octavia’s taste buds are absolute tanks, and this disaster of a drink has nothing on Monty’s earliest brews).

“Never mind Zorro grinding with some soft grunge chick! And there was this princess with Little Red Riding Hood over her shoulders. It was nuts. They were heading over the quad, and Little Red kept trying to kiss the princess.” Octavia chokes, the drink burning her throat as she tries not to spit it out. Myles laughs loudly, clapping her on the back.

“What?” She croaks, covering her hand with her mouth so he doesn’t see the vodka spilling over her chin.

“I think the princess was trying to take Red home, but the chick wanted to stay. She looked pretty smashed though.”

Something on the other side of the room catches Myles’ attention, and he gives her another bright smile before he dances off, head bopping to the music. Octavia stands stock still, rooted to the floor.

Because Zorro and soft grunge could only be Bellamy ad Echo, and if Clarke’s taken fox home, then Bellamy has nothing to tempt him away from his ex. Octavia drops her drink on the nearest flat surface and tries to ignore how when she moves too fast everything goes blurry. Her shoes are hurting her feet, her socks keep slipping down her legs, and Octavia’s hit by the sudden feeling that everything is _wrong_.

She’s so distracted by her own drunken thoughts that she doesn’t notice Lincoln creeping up on her, and she’s so _tired_ suddenly that she can’t even smile when he kisses her.

He pulls away swiftly, his hands gently cradling her face.

“What’s the matter, Tav?” He asks, his face as gentle as everything else about him. Octavia feels her face screw up and she presses her face into his chest to try and stop herself from crying. Lincoln doesn’t say anything, just holds her close.

“I want to go home, Lincoln,” She says eventually when she has her breathing under control. “Will you take me?”

“’Course I will,” He presses a kiss to the top of her head, and Octavia closes her eyes for a beat. She knows that she’s lucky to have him; lucky for this thing that they seem to have (She also knows that she looks a mess right now. On the edge of tears isn’t usually an attractive look).

“C’mon,” He takes her hand, his palm warm and rough against hers, so much bigger than her own. She trails after him, keeping her head down as he weaves through the crowd, cutting a path for her to follow. They pass Emori and Murphy – who are _dominating_ the beer pong table – but a side glance keeps Murphy in his place. He raises his eyebrows, concerned, but Octavia shakes her head. Murphy doesn’t look in any way convinced, but Emori catches his elbow and turns him back to the game before he can shake Lincoln down.

Their walk back to the dorm is quiet, nothing passing between them but the heat of their hands. Octavia feels the tears build in her eyes and blinks them away more times than she’s comfortable with. She gets more sober with each foot they put between them and the house. Lincoln knows the way, so Octavia doesn’t have to think about anything other than putting one foot in front of the other. She passes him her key when they get to the building, and when he opens the door to her room Octavia heads straight for the bed, sitting sideways across it with her back to the wall.

Lincoln hesitates in the doorway. Octavia busies herself with kicking off her shoes and peeling off her socks. There’s a soft squeak from the bed as Lincoln sits next to her, his weight weighing down the mattress and sending Octavia tumbling towards him. Her wings catch him in the arm, and she struggles to remove them, getting nowhere and coating them both in even more glitter.

“Calm down, Octavia,” Lincoln soothes, taking her hands and holding them together in front of her chest. Octavia blinks up at him, feeling the last of the effects of her drink ebb away. Carefully, he reaches around her to undo the fastenings of the feathered contraptions, removing them and setting them aside. When they’re gone, Octavia feels an ache build in her shoulders.

“Hey, I saw the light on – oh.” Clarke stumbles through the door with her shoes in her hand, her tiara gone. She looks between them, her eyes wide. She backs up. “I can share with Roma.”

Lincoln shakes his head. He gets to his feet after kissing Octavia chastely, telling both of them ‘goodnight’. Octavia watches him go, smiling wobbly. Clarke plonks herself down on her own bed, obviously still buzzing with alcohol.

“I went back to the party, but Murphy said that you’d gone.”

“What about Fox?” Octavia asks, too tired to put any heat into her voice.

Clarke smiles wryly. “Girl can put them back. But then we played quarters, and she nearly passed out after the first round.”

“So you didn’t…” Octavia trails off, looking away. She really doesn’t want to think about the body shots.

“Didn’t what?” Clarke blinks then snorts. “Christ, O, I’m not a monster.”

“What about the body shots?”

“What about them?” Clarke asks, her voice perfectly level. Octavia’s mind flashes to all of Clarke and Raven’s stories, and she surmises that Fox probably meant as much to Clarke as any of the other people she’d been with during her nine months on the road.

Octavia shrugs, struggling to her feet so she can hunt for her make-up wipes and her pyjamas. Clarke watches her curiously.

“Why are you so sad?” She asks bluntly, making Octavia cringe.

“I think too much.” She says honestly. Clarke purses her lips.

“Bellamy and Echo: was that what you’re thinking about?” Octavia nods, reaching for her pyjamas. “He’s a grown man, O. He’s allowed to do what he likes.”

Octavia sags and sighs, because this is the exact same conversation she had with Raven. (Also, she isn’t sure whether she actually saw Echo and Bellamy before the shots, or whether she just imagined it. Either way, she _really_ doesn’t want to bring it up).

“Raven said the same thing,” She tells Clarke, twisting her arms to undo the zip on the back of her dress.

“Normally, I’d say don’t listen to Raven, but she’s actually right for once.” Clarke flops backwards on her bed and shimmies of out her fishnets. “Oh my god, did you see her tonight after she was with Wick?”

Octavia whirls around, her dress dropping to the floor. She kicks it to the side, eagerness bubbling inside of her.

“ _Please_ tell me that Wick was Frankenstein’s monster.”

Clarke nods, her grin bordering on being Cheshire-like. “You’re damn right he was.”

“Oh my god.” Octavia stands there for a moment, uncaring that she’s only wearing her underwear and a fluffy headband. “Oh my _god_. The paint was on her legs too.”

“I know!” Clarke enthuses, clapping her hands like pleased child. “And oh, did you see Miller and Monty?”

“For a little bit. They were dancing together in the basement bit.” Octavia says (she’ll tell Clarke about Christmas in the morning). She pulls on her pyjamas as Clarke slides off her bed to get changed herself. “Did you catch Maya and Jas, though? Because that was fucking adorable.”

“Aw, no, I missed it!”

When they’re both settled in bed, their face clean and getting their brief post-party energy boost, they talk about the party, bitching and gossiping about everything they’d seen. Octavia’s pretty sure she drops off, because one minute they’re discussing Monroe making serious moves on Sterling, and the next the rooms pitch-black and someone is knocking on the door. Octavia burrows deeper into her blankets and tries to ignore it.

She can hear Clarke muttering something under her breath, and it takes a few seconds, but she clambers to her feet and over to the door. Octavia turns her head away from the sudden glare of light from the hallway, sending mental death threats at whoever’s knocking.

“Princess,” Bellamy breathes. Octavia freezes, alarmed. As slowly as she can, she turns so she can see her brother in the doorway. He looks tired, and he’s lost his hat and his mask.

“Bellamy?” Clarke replies quietly, scrubbing a hand across her eyes. Octavia can’t catch how Clarke’s feeling from her voice. “I thought you were staying with the boys?”

Bellamy ducks his head, embarrassed. “Uh, well Jasper disappeared somewhere with the witch girl, and Miller and Monty must’ve, uh, figured they had the room to themselves.”

“Oh,” Clarke says, then snickers. “ _Oh_.”

Bellamy glares at her, his cheeks a dark pink. “I thought I’d just take the floor in here instead.”

“Because you got sexiled.” Clarke comments, clearing enjoying the sight of Bellamy so flustered. She waves him in, shutting the door behind him. The room is washed with darkness again, and Octavia sighs quietly, her eyes slipping half-shut.

“O dropped off a little while ago, so be quiet.”

As her eyes adjust to the darkness, Octavia can see Bellamy nodding.

“And you can’t sleep in here if you’re wearing _that_.” Clarke pinches the material of Bellamy’s cape with her fingers, pulling a face.

“I thought you liked Dick.” Bellamy says, but he’s already undoing whatever it is that fastens the cape to his shoulders.

“I don’t like the perfume he’s got on.” Octavia holds her breath, but she sees the self-deprecating smile on her brother’s face.

He looks away, moving to the side of the room and starting to rifle through her chest-of-drawers (half of the sweatpants she owns aren’t strictly _hers_ ).

Clarke climbs back onto her mattress, sitting up and watching Bellamy. He turns after a little while, clothes in one arm and a pile of blankets in the other.

“What happened to Fox?” He asks her. He dumps the piles on the end of Octavia’s bed, moving to take off his shirt. Octavia looks away, so close to falling asleep again.

“She passed out. What happened to Echo?”

“She’s got a boyfriend.” Bellamy says evenly. Octavia mouths a series of swearwords, none of them quite conveying how she feels about Echo.

“Too bad.” Clarke replies, but there’s a faint twist that could be a smile or the dim lighting.

“Not really. We don’t quite fit, me and Echo.”

He appears back in Octavia’s line of sight, blankets back in his arms (he’s not wearing a shirt, surprise surprise). Clarke makes a tutting noise and shuffles over in her bed, moving closer to the wall. Bellamy looks over at her.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor Bellamy.”

“S’that so?” Octavia can’t see his face, but she can picture his grin.

“Get that look off your face and get into bed. Dick.” They both laugh quietly (nerds).

Octavia doesn’t hear or see anything else, because she closes her eyes once more, only planning to blink. When she opens them its morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D
> 
> I'm sure Echo's a pretty swell girl, and I'm really excited to see her in S3, but I needed to vilify /someone/.  
> I'm not sure when the next update will be, because it's coming up to exam season so most of my day will be spent studying and revising - which will be super fun! -_-
> 
> commments are always welcome!!
> 
> (((( also, Clarke's costume is based on this: [x](http://loseroniousjaha.tumblr.com/post/115777068929/)  
> and bc i couldnt find anything for Raven or Octavia, i tried to draw them (pls don't laugh, i know that theyre terrible) : [x](http://loseroniousjaha.tumblr.com/post/115777451374/) ))))


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lincoln meets the fam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a whole day off on Wednesday, and other slivers of free time let me get this all down for you guys. So, I hope you like it :)

Octavia loves it when class finishes early.

They’re almost halfway through November, so everyone who isn’t invested has either dropped out or doesn’t turn up anymore, leaving the rest of them to power through the lessons. It boosts her enthusiasm when she finds that she _sailed_ through her mid-terms (of course she had an advantage because she has Lincoln for help, and Clarke is a ruthless anti-procrastinator – when she makes you a study timetable, she expects you to _stick_ to it).

Indra closes the final slide of her PowerPoint, then looks at the clock and sighs.

“Alright. An hour left, but you’ve done well enough, I suppose. Get out of my classroom.”

The class doesn’t need any more encouragement, gathering all of their notes and sliding their chairs home. Caris winks and nudges Octavia as they walk out, because loitering just outside the door is Lincoln (Octavia may have texted him a few minutes ago to say that they were well ahead of schedule in class. And she may or may not have hinted that they should slip away for a little while afterwards).

He isn’t actually Octavia’s TA anymore, having cried ‘work-load’ to Indra and pushing his friend Penn into the TA spot instead. (Penn is shorter, less tattooed, and far grumpier than Lincoln. Octavia gets on with him well)

At first, Octavia had been puzzled, because every time Lincoln talked about his position he seemed happy about it, not stressed. Then Lincoln helpfully reminded her that TA-student relationships are actually deemed inappropriate by the school, and in the same sentence asked her out officially.

So, Octavia flips off Caris and tells her where she could stick her wink, then holds hands with her _boyfriend_. Lincoln pulls her close and wraps an arm around her shoulders, their fingers still linked and Octavia’s forearm now across her chest.

“Hey, beautiful,” Lincoln murmurs into her hair, his casual compliment making Octavia sigh dreamily.

“Hey yourself,” She replies, hooking her thumb into one of his belt-loops (according to Raven, yes, they are _that_ couple). “Are we still on for tonight?”

“Of course we are,” Lincoln confirms, smirking, “why would I not want to go out drinking with your friends, and your overbearing, over-protective brother?”

Octavia rolls her eyes and jabs the spot between his hip and his rib that makes him yelp.

“Clarke and Raven will protect you. They _like_ you. Seriously, Linc.”

And it’s true. They’d interrupted Octavia’s and Lincoln’s date a few days ago, and Lincoln (being a massive softie and completely underestimating how good the girls at subtle interrogation) had invited them to join him and Octavia for lunch.

They’d been at a restaurant, and the two women had waltzed past the front arm in arm, headed straight for the door. Octavia had tried to hide in her seat by holding the menu in front of her face, and tried to get Lincoln to do the same by kicking his shins. It hadn’t worked, and Clarke and Raven had sauntered straight up to the table wearing identical smirks. (Raven was back on her crutches, because apparently the ‘thing’ with Wick never happened and they were all hallucinating wildly – which meant that they had imagined the streamlined brace that had let Raven walk around basically unhindered. Clarke despaired)

Thus began an hour of light conversation that disguised how deep Clarke and Raven were digging into Lincoln. Octavia sat back and watched in horror as the two women drew more out from Lincoln in one more sitting than Octavia could over weeks. It was awe inspiring and utterly terrifying, but Lincoln seemed to hold his own, and at the end of it all Clarke and Raven actually walked away impressed. (Well, Raven hobbled away on her crutches). It had helped that Lincoln laid it on thick with the compliments, and was able to hold a conversation with Raven about cars, and one with Clarke about art.

“They’ve got a strange way of showing it.” Lincoln says, rolling his eyes. “Their ‘subtle intimidation’ wasn’t all that subtle.”

“Clarke only threatened to hide your body _once_!” Octavia protests.

“Yeah, but Raven listed all the heavy, _deadly_ machinery she works with.”

“They just want to make sure you’re not an axe-murderer.” Lincoln looks down at her, eyebrows raised high in disbelief. Octavia flaps a hand. “But whatever; it was Clarke’s idea for you to come out with us tonight, and Nyko is covering your shift at The Ground, so you really have no reason to back out.”

Admittedly, Octavia isn't that enthusiastic herself about Bellamy and Lincoln meeting (she still can’t think about the Atom incident without shuddering). But, she figures that he’ll find out eventually – be it from Jasper’s loud mouth, Monty slipping up and mentioning it to Miller – who would be bound to tell Bellamy through best-bro code, or some shit – or just by bumping into them on campus (it’s not _that_ big a college). So if it’s going to happen, it might as well happen in a way that Octavia can control. So when they go out tonight, Bellamy will already be on his way to drunk, it’ll be dark inside the club – so Bell won’t be able to see Lincoln’s neck tattoos – and then all of their friends will double as the perfect buffer.

They take the long way back through the campus, walking around the very edges and stopping every few minutes when one of them feels the urge to kiss the other. Lincoln kisses her one final time outside the Washington DC Building (which was, for some reason unbeknown to Octavia, called Tondc. Not even Lincoln knew why).

“If I’m late Anya will skin me alive,” He says against her lips.

“Mm, that would be bad. Then who would meet my brother tonight?”

Lincoln laughs sarcastically.

On the way back to her dorm, Octavia spots Wick further up the sidewalk, walking towards her. He’s looking down at his phone, so she has chance to dive off of the path and into the bushes, kneeling in the soil. She holds still as he walks past, her knees protesting at the position she’s in. (she’s only hiding because she doesn’t want to get caught in the drama that’s currently circling Wick and Raven. Because not only does she not know anything, but she’s known Wick longer than Raven, so her loyalties are split all over the place).

Wick walks past her hiding spot without noticing her, but Octavia waits a few minutes before she emerges. Her jeans are covered in mud, and she has half a mind to make Raven wash them for her. She spends the rest of the way back to her room in a worse mood than she started it.

Clarke has Friday afternoons off, but she usually spends them in one of the art classrooms, up to her elbows in paint. So Octavia is suitably confused to hear the tinny sound of her laptop from under their door (she’s even more confused when she hears Batiatus from _Spartacus_. She’d never had Clarke pegged as a _Spartacus_ kind of girl – Roman era shows are more Bellamy’s speed. And of course Octavia recognises it, because the show has been inescapable since Bellamy first discovered it).

_“Yet here I stand, a lanista, like my father.”_

Octavia pushes the door open slowly, trying to prepare herself for whatever she was about to see.

She isn’t prepared.

(Nothing could ever have prepared her)

The first thing that she sees is the giant canvas on an easel at the foot of Clarke’s bed, a sketched outline of a man on it. The next is that Clarke’s laptop is on Octavia’s bed, playing a gory scene from _Gods of The Arena._ Finally, there the fact that Bellamy is sprawled on Clarke’s sheets, naked but for the artfully tossed sheet that covers everything (but not nearly enough), his arms behind his head and his hair suspiciously tousled underneath black laurel wreath. Octavia nearly passes out at the sight (because this is not a picture of her brother that she ever wanted, and now she’ll have to live with it for the rest of her life).

“You missed the best scene, princess. Crixus just received the _sacramentum gladiatorum,_ so now he’s part of the brotherhood, with Gannicus and Barca.” Bellamy states, not moving his head from where it’s pointed directly at Clarke’s screen. He sighs. “Am I allowed to move yet?”

Octavia bites her lip, clutching her book bag to her, her eyes clenched shut. (How the hell does she respond to this? It’s not a situation she ever imagined. _Ever_ )

“No…?” She squeaks. Bellamy’s head snaps to her.

“Octavia? What the fuck are you-”

“Hey, get back down, Blake!” Clarke demands, appearing behind Octavia suddenly, a coffee in each hand. She kicks the door shut, sealing the room from any onlookers. Nevertheless, Bellamy looks horrified. Octavia feels his pain.

“I finished class early,” She says weakly, as Clarke puts both of the drinks on her desk. Octavia keeps her eyes firmly on her roommate, avoiding looking at Bellamy with all of her might.

“And Indra actually let you go?”

Octavia nods, “We’re her favourite class. Well, it’s the class with her favourite in.” She doesn’t mean to sound smug, but she can’t help it. Bellamy’s mouth quirks upwards into a proud smile for a second. Octavia looks over at him and feels horror roll through her again, her face probably as pale as anything.

“Can I please get up now? I’d rather not scar my sister further.” He huffs. Clarke rolls her eyes.

“Sure, why not. You’ve already moved from the pose anyway.”

“Have you got enough done?” Bellamy asks before he stands up. Octavia looks down at her feet quickly, turning to face the wall. Clarke averts her eyes too, as Bellamy starts pulling on his clothes.

“For now. I’ve got enough pictures to finish the main lines, and if we pick up again on Tuesday I can get most of the colour down.”

“Cool.”

Octavia looks up again when it’s safe and everyone is fully dressed. Clarke passes Bellamy one of the coffees – pale and disgustingly milky – and a handful of sugar sachets. Just how he likes it.

“You’re coffee game is so weak,” Clarke notes with a smirk. Bellamy repeats the words back to her mockingly, like a twelve year old. Clarke and Octavia both laugh at his expense as he flops backwards onto Clarke’s bed. Clarke sits next to him, a tad more delicately, sipping her drink.

“Why were you even so…naked?”  Octavia asks, looking between her roommate, and her brother. Bellamy blushes and shrugs. Clarke glances at him and looks offended at his reaction.

“I’m doing a study of renaissance art, all of which is heavily inspired by mythology, so for my mid-terms I’m developing pieces in my own style but focusing around the Greek pantheon -”

“And I’m Hades!” Bellamy chips in, grinning toothily.

“ _Ashton_ was my pick to be Hades, and Bellamy’s filling in for him.” Clarke states firmly, then rolls her eyes at Bellamy’s wounded look. “He’s also handy for the occasional quote.” She admits.

“Okay, that’s fine, but can you _please_ put up a sign next time?” Octavia begs. Clarke looks away and smirks, and only Bellamy looks embarrassed. Clarke punches him in the arm playfully and laughs.

“You’re so weird; you throw your body around like it’s nothing, but you won’t come to the studio with me – where no one can walk in.”

“Your _teachers_ can walk in!” Bellamy protests, “And other students!”

“Yeah, but Octavia can’t.” Clarke snickers.

“Shut up,” He mutters, hiding his face in the coffee steam. A shout erupts from Clarke’s laptop and Octavia jumps. She’d forgotten that it was still on.

“You wanna watch, O? I know you’ve seen all of them.” Bellamy says.

“I’m not sitting on the same sheets that your naked ass has been on, Bell.” Octavia says firmly. Bellamy flushes and Clarke snorts into her coffee.

In the end they all sit on Octavia’s bed with the laptop on Clarke’s, until it gets to about four and Bellamy heads back to his apartment. Octavia texts Miller through the experience, keeping him updated on the situation.

_Bells is posing naked for C  nd  watching Spartacus w her. I’m not sure whats happening rn_

**Liar**

**No way thats actually happening.**

_For srs. I walked in on it and now I’m scarred for life_ (she includes the skull emoji and the medical mask emoji for effect)

**Pics or it didn’t happen**

_I didn’t take a picture of my naked brother u fucking creep jfc why would you even ask that?_

**I still don’t believe you then.**

_F u miller_

* * *

 

After Bellamy clears out, Clarke puts the canvas away in a bag under her bed, folding up the easel so it slides under too. They discuss a little on how they’re going to go the whole night without a Lincoln/Bellamy fistfight, and Clarke graciously agrees to be the main distraction.

“I’ll pour so many drinks down his throat he’ll think Lincoln is his new best friend.” Clarke winks, rifling through her wardrobe for an outfit for that night.

“Won’t that make it worse? Bellamy isn’t exactly well behaved when he’s drunk.” Octavia worries, lying on her back and staring at the ceiling. She’s been texting Lincoln all the while, trying to alleviate his fears.

Clarke says nothing, and when Octavia turns her head to look at her, a demand on her lips, she’s holding up a dress. Octavia feels her jaw drop, and figures that Bellamy’s attention will be firmly occupied elsewhere for the night.

* * *

 

As he promised, Monty has been plying Bellamy with alcohol since about six, and Jasper had helped when he’d gotten to the apartment. When they arrive Clarke parks up and they leave their bags in the car.

They don’t actually go in the building, but wait outside, leaning on Clarke’s car. Octavia rings Monty and asks them to come downstairs. (It has something to do with the fact that the apartment is opposite Wick’s, and that Raven is a massive coward).

So when the boys all troop downstairs (minus Murphy, because he’s out somewhere with Emori doing couple-y stuff), Clarke grins and stands up, leading the way towards the city centre. Raven looks up at the apartment building (in a way that Octavia would call ‘mooning’), until Miller tells her that she’s pathetic, and then she spends most of the walk trading insults with him. Clarke smirks, and when they arrive at Skybox she congratulates him on distracting her so well. Miller bows and rolls his hand.

Inside the club, they initiate the plan immediately. Lincoln’s already here, just waiting for a text from Octavia to say that it’s safe to appear.

Octavia leads them up to the second floor, finding a free booth (Skybox is really weird, the bar and the dancefloor takes up most of the space on the ground floor, but all around the edges on all stories are private rooms that they call ‘boxes’). Raven flops down onto a settee with a scowl, thinking of her next barb for Miller. Clarke slips her coat from her shoulders delicately, folding it over the back of one of the chairs. She turns to Octavia expectantly, who gives her a thumbs-up. On the other side of the room, even Monty’s eyes get wide at the sight of her.

Clarke’s wearing a tight black dress – and Octavia means _tight_ – with a wide, mesh V-neck that travels to her navel and shows exactly what Clarke has to offer. Raven whistles and Clarke grins. She heads for the door, nudging Bellamy with her elbow as she moves.

“You gonna help get the first round in, Bellamy?”

Bellamy follows her out of the room like a puppy on a leash; happy to be lead. Raven snorts.

“He’s not even gonna see Lincoln over Clarke’s boobs.” She says bluntly. Miller blinks.

“Lincoln?”

“O’s beau.” She wiggles her eyebrows, laughing at the rhyme. Octavia sighs and holds her hands up before the barrage of questions can start (Miller is her second big brother in every sense of the word, including the ridiculous instinct to scare off every boy she’s ever liked).

“Yes, he’s my boyfriend. So you, Miller, are going to be nice and sociable, and you’re _not_ going to try and bully him.”

“Not that you’d be able to,” Jasper snickers. Miller gets an offended look on his face, so Monty rushes to reassure him.

“You’re good, babe, but Lincoln is taller than you. And wider. And heavier. And much, much scarier.” He says, realising halfway through his statement that he’s not being reassuring in the slightest. Octavia ducks her head to hide her smile, and texts Lincoln that it’s time for stage one.

* * *

 

So far, so good. Lincoln had been in their box when Bellamy and Clarke had gotten back, and it’s clear from how they’re giggling (and from how long it took for them to get back from the bar) that they’d had a few drinks between them.

Octavia raises her eyebrows at the arm Bellamy has over Clarke’s shoulder, and Clarke shrugs and pushes a tray onto their table. Bellamy sighs and flops down onto the couch next to Miller.

“Tequila slammer,” She explains.

“Waaaaaait.” Bellamy mumbles, “Hang on a _second_ ,” He sits up straight and braces himself on the table, staring unblinkingly at Lincoln. Under the table, Octavia squeezes her boyfriend’s hand. “O? Whozis?”

“This is Lincoln, Bell. My boyfriend.”

Bellamy squints, not saying anything. The whole room holds their breath.

“I know you,” He says finally, pointing a finger at Lincoln’s face. “You was friends with _Tristan._ ” Lincoln nods and Bellamy gasps. Clarke tries to put herself in his line of vision, but Bellamy’s narrowed eyes are firmly on Lincoln. Octavia looks around helplessly. “That makes you _old_. Older th’ me. Older than Octavia!”

Clarke rolls her eyes so hard that there’s a real danger they might fall out of her head. She sits next to Bellamy and takes his jaw in her hand.

“Bellamy?”

“Yes, princess?”

“Lincoln likes Octavia, and Octavia likes Lincoln.”

“So? She’s my baby sister. He’s a defl-derf-defil – ruiner!” Clarke sighs, “She’s only eighteen!” Bellamy carries on.

“You can’t say what I can and can’t do anymore, Bell.” Octavia says firmly. Lincoln looks very uncomfortable.

“He’s better than Echo.” Clarke says bluntly. Bellamy pulls a face and wrenches his face from Clarke’s hands.

“S’not fair t’bring her up.” He mutters. Then he turns to Lincoln and stands up, offering his hand for a shake. Lincoln stands too, towering over Bellamy, and takes his hand warily. They shake and then sit down again.

“Does he know that I can beat him up if he does anything to O?” Bellamy asks Clarke. Raven laughs, and on his other side Miller grins.

“Bell, I think if he does anything wrong, Octavia can beat him up herself.”

(It’s stupid how pleased Bellamy looks at that statement)

* * *

 

From that point on, the night was just like one of their usual Friday night excursions. Lincoln integrates himself easily, and didn’t seem to mind the fact that he’s five years older than half of their group. Every time Bellamy looks as if he’s going to say something, Clarke will either hand him a drink or whisk him away to the dancefloor (god knows where she’s getting all of the beverages from, but Bellamy stays happy so Octavia won’t question it).

She does whisper, quite a few times, about how much Octavia owes her for the night. Raven rolls her eyes heavily and advises Octavia to either buy her drinks or offer up her firstborn (apparently both will work, but she’s sticking to alcohol).

Octavia’s more than happy about how well the nights turning out, and how easy it will be to spend time with her boyfriend now that everyone knows. They steal more than a few moments alone, leaving Lincoln wearing her lipstick, and for Octavia’s hair to come spilling out of her intricate braids.

She giggles to Monty about her success when Lincoln gets pulled away by some friends of his, leaving her alone for a little while. They stumble back up to their box together, picking up Jasper on the way. They have to steal his phone from him, because he’s already rang Maya up once tonight to declare his undying love, and the poor girl really deserves better than to spend her Friday nights being harassed by a smitten drunk.

They link up, forcing everyone on the stairs to turn sideway to get past them. As they walk Octavia decides to bring up the fact that she’s never been allowed in on their handshake, and the boys protest so vehemently against her being let in on it that Octavia’s actually hurt.

“But!” Jasper slurs, his arm tight around hers to stop him from tumbling back down the stairs, “But, _we_ three can make a new one!” He yells. Monty nods, his hair flopping further into his eyes with every move.

“With smacks and dips and _explosions_.” He gushes. Octavia giggles and cuddles the pair close to her, ignoring the fact that they’re still on a stairway.

“C’mon, we can make it up in the box and it will be a-ma- _zing_.” They nearly make it up to the top when Octavia missteps and loses her shoe. “Oh no. You guys go, I need to fix this.” She gestures at her bare foot. The boys nod solemnly, holding hands as they crest the stairs and follow the corridor to their box.

Octavia finds her shoe easily; it’s only fallen a few steps, but getting it back on is a challenge. She cheers when she manages, and takes the rest of the stairs at a jog. She nearly runs into Jasper and Monty, who are hovering outside the entrance to their box. They both hold their fingers to their mouths, and nearly in sync, gesture into the box. Octavia blinks, then leans around them, craning her neck so she can see inside.

At first she doesn’t get it, because it’s just Bellamy and Clarke talking, but then Bellamy moves his head a fraction and Octavia gasps – because it’s actually Bellamy and Clarke _kissing_.

Octavia gasps, and Monty and Jasper scrabble to pull her back. They stare at each other in wonder and a fair bit of excitement. Octavia judges it as safe to look again after a few beats.

They haven’t changed position at all. Clarke is sat on the table, drinks all around her, and Bellamy is stood between her legs, nearly his whole body bent so he can reach her lips. But as she’s watching Clarke pulls away roughly, her hands on Bellamy’s shoulder forcing him to sit down.

“No, we have to stop.” Clarke says firmly, her eyes on Bellamy.

“I thought we was doin’ okay, prin’ss,” Bellamy grins. It clear that the two of them are even drunker than Octavia and the two boys, their movements slow and their voices alcohol soaked.

“No. Nono. We _can’t_.” Clarke says, shaking her head. Bellamy’s grin drops, and he raises his hands to cover Clarke’s.

“Why?”

“ _Because_ , Bellamy. ‘Cos this all,” Clarke pulls one of her hands free so she can wave it around the room, “means too much. You said family. An’ you don’t kiss family. S’pecially not family of your roommate. I’m not gonna risk losin’ everything, losing Octavia – she means too much. She’s my _friend._ ”

“I’m your friend too,” Bellamy protests, his head drooping. Clarke nods, moving her hands to his neck, her fingers playing with his hair at the back of his neck. She looks like she’s on the edge of tears. Octavia feels her throat get thick at the sight.

“I know.” She says hoarsely. “S’why we can’t. I’m not gonna risk it all on a drunk fuck with you, Bellamy.”

Bellamy nods like he understands what she means, and Clarke’s head drops to his shoulder.

“It’d be a good fuck though, princess.”

Clarke nods. “Probably. But we can’t ever.”

“Because you’re the princess and I’m Bellamy.” Bellamy says, his chin on Clarke’s head and a frown tugging at his lips. Clarke shakes her head against his shoulder.

“Because I’m not good for people I sleep with, and you deserve better than to be dragged in by me.”

“Pfft, I’ve dealt with Echo. You’d be _easy._ ”

Clarke pulls away from their strange hug, her face full of grief. “No.” She says quietly, shaking her head. “I used to be _better_ than what I am now. Maybe with that girl…” she stands up abruptly, brushing off the front of her dress. “But she’s gone, Bellamy. And I’m no good for anyone.” Clarke’s still drunk, but her slurred words hold a sharp edge to them.

Octavia feels hands on the back of her dress, pulling her away from the scene. She whirls around to see Monty and Jasper, their faces expectant. She shakes her head and pushes them backwards into the nearest box. They watch as Clarke emerges, her face hard and sad, her coat in hand. Octavia counts for thirty seconds before she dashes back into the same box as Bellamy.

He’s still sat in the same place, but he’s holding Clarke’s car keys. He dangles them between his fingers and stares at them morosely. He looks up as they walk in, his eyes less glazed than she’d expect (he looks like he’s just been hit by the sobriety stick, which is never fun).

“Hey, l’il sister. Clarke’s went.”

(Octavia doesn’t miss the way he calls her _Clarke_ rather than princess. She doesn’t take it as a good sign)

“Oh no!” Jasper mourns quietly, “The ship is _sinking_.” Monty hisses and leaps at him, trying to smother him with his hands. Octavia sits next to her brother.

“What happened, Bell?” She asks, trying to cut through the bullshit. Bellamy doesn’t bite.

“She wanted to go home, O.”

“No, I _saw_ you-”

“Stop.” He holds his hand up and shoves the keys at her, already getting to his feet.

“Call me when it’s time to leave,” He mutters, searching out the closest drink on the table and downing it in one. He winces as it goes down, then stalks out of the room. Jasper and Monty look up as he goes, their eyes wide and their faces upset, and Octavia is left wondering just how much Clarke went through in her nine months on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D
> 
> (I'll admit, i'm an absolute sucker for Hades/Persephone comparisons to Bellarke. I can't help myself)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia hatches a plan, and remembers that she's never learnt to cook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  
> God, I'm so sorry it's been so long! But, you know, life/school/coursework etcetera. I haven't actually had that much spare time, so this is technically chapter seventeen part 1 - and i'll finish the 2nd part and get it out as soon as I can, I promise - I just wanted to give you something to hold you over, and so it wouldn't be a two week break between chapters :')

It’s strange, after that night. Barely different, but just _off_.

Octavia’s pretty sure that she wouldn’t even notice it, if not for the fact that she witnessed the event (was at the epicentre, maybe). It’s subtle in its shifting, how steadily Clarke is around less, no longer where Octavia expects her to be. Around the dorm, nothing has changed, but when they’re at the apartment – if Clarke turns up at all. Sometimes she doesn’t come, saying she has too much work to do – everything just seems off kilter.

Clarke doesn’t sit by Bellamy. It’s such a small thing, but it sets a tone. Not even when they fought did they separate (Bellamy loitered around to annoy Clarke, and Clarke loitered around to annoy Bellamy. They didn’t just _retreat_ ). But now when Bellamy takes an armchair, Clarke doesn’t force him to share it. When Clarke claims the corner of the couch, Bellamy doesn’t throw himself next to her and squish her into it. They sit apart.

And they don’t fight anymore (they haven’t _fought_ in a long time, but now they don’t even squabble). They deliberately avoid topics that usually make the other go off, and when there’s a danger of confrontation they both back down. Miller had almost swallowed his tongue the first time he saw it, and Raven’s eyes narrowed so much she was close to not seeing.

Bellamy still sits for Clarke though, lying back on her bed as Clarke paints. But Octavia doubts that it’s fun anymore (the word ‘awkward’ comes to mind, followed quickly by ‘silence’). But Blakes are good by their word, so Bellamy will probably keep turning up until Clarke tells him not to.

Raven’s notices it all, of course. How could she not? But she won’t say anything about it (Octavia wouldn’t expect her to, though).

A few days ago, Octavia had walked in on an argument between the two women; Raven’s arms were raised high, and she was spitting mad, and Clarke was stood as steady as stone, taking each verbal lash without blinking. They’d stopped as soon as they spotted Octavia, and she’d been too surprised at the sight to hear what Raven had been saying.

Raven had cast one more, filthy look at her best friend before she hobbled away, turning at the door.

“Listen, I don’t know what the fuck’s went down here, but you need to get your fucking act together, Griffin.” She’d warned.

“I’m sorting it, Rae.” Clarke had replied, crossing her arms. Raven snorted.

“Like hell you are.” And then she’d gone, and Clarke had asked, with false cheer, whether or not Octavia would like to watch a movie – basically sweeping the whole interaction under the rug.

Octavia knows exactly what went down at Skybox, just not the reason behind it. But she wasn’t about to talk to Clarke about it, and _no way_ was she broaching the topic with her brother. So the weirdness continues. Monty and Jasper demand periodic updates, but Octavia has nothing to share, because she has no idea what’s happening around her.

The only thing she can think of is to try and fix it.

So she calls Miller and Murphy and Raven, (Murphy had protested his involvement at first, but Raven had kicked him in the ankle and hissed something about there being no ‘I’ in ‘team’) and between them they come up with something of a plan.

It’s a terrible plan, of course, with far too many holes and a hell of a lot of flaws, but right now it’s the only thing that the four of them can think of to try and remedy whatever’s going down between Bellamy and Clarke. So it’ll have to do.

* * *

 

Mass texts have been sent, and the plan is fully in action. It’s too late to back out and try something else, so Octavia is really hoping that tonight goes without a hitch – and that Bellamy and Clarke can get over themselves. Because if they don’t, Octavia’s going to resort to Emori’s method of locking them both in a cupboard.

It’s a Thursday, so Bellamy has a full day in class and so does Clarke, which gives Octavia and the team time to prepare the apartment. Miller vacuums the living room and Murphy somehow found a feather duster and is dusting quite cheerily, while Octavia and Raven stand in the kitchen, looking through a recipe book with a dawning sense of doom. Miller had picked the meal, then danced away from being charged with cooking it, the ass.

“I can’t do this shit.” Raven declares, tossing the book down onto the table. It lands next to the bag of groceries that Miller had bought specially; lots of vegetables and tiny glass bottles of ground up stuff-Octavia-cant-pronounce. “You want me to build you a rocket? Fine. But – what even is this?”

“It’s a… lasagne.” Octavia tilts her head so she can see the writing. “A difficult lasagne.”

“Right. Do you know how to do this?”

“No. But can it really be _that_ difficult?” Octavia asks helplessly, turning the book around so she can peer at the pages. There’s three stars by the page’s title, and it fills Octavia with the opposite of hope.

“Prosciutto, Octavia, what the fuck is _prosciutto_?” Raven jabs at the book, pointing to the offending word.

“Shouldn’t you know that?” Octavia says slowly, raising her eyebrows.

Raven scoffs, “I’m Mexican, not Italian. Don’t be racist.”

“Its dried ham,” Emori supplies helpfully from the doorway, her voice dry, and smirking at the sight of Octavia and Raven looking so lost. She has a tea-towel flicked over her shoulder, and looks prepared for the afternoon ahead. Octavia turns to her and shoves the book in her waiting hands.

“ _Please_.”

* * *

 

Half an hour later, and enough lasagne to feed a small army is in the oven. There’s a good chance that the dish is made of more red wine than lasagne, but that’s part of the plan (which is simply: get everyone so drunk that inhibitions are well and truly broken, then nudge Bell and Clarke in the right direction).

Emori is working on making a cheesecake that’s almost entirely chocolate liqueur. (Murphy’s in there with her, and frankly; their levels of PDA are bordering on indecent, and Octavia isn’t here for that. She doesn’t know how Raven can stand to be around them)

Her job done, Octavia flops onto the couch, planting her feet on Miller’s lap. He’s watching the news, so Octavia gets her phone out instead (she’s gotten three texts from Lincoln in the last ten minutes, all of which need to be replied to with careful consideration and no small amount of ‘x’s).

“ _It’s been nearly a year since the tragedy that struck the White House, and the whole of America. The shooting of Wells Jaha, the only child of President Jaha.”_

Octavia looks up quickly. She remembers hearing the story the year before with clarity, one of those ‘where were you’ moments.

“Shit. Didn’t realise it was a whole year ago.” She says, her phone forgotten for the moment.

Miller nods, his eyes on the screen. “They still haven’t caught they guy who did it. Been no claims to it, either.”

“He’s still in a coma, isn’t he? The kid?”

“Yeah.” Miller says softly.

They watch the screen silently. The speech Jaha had given after the shooting had been heart-breaking, with the President actually crying at the podium. Octavia remembers watching it live, her heart in her throat. The shooting of Wells Jaha had been one of those inescapable stories, on every channel 24/7 as people still reacted to it. There was never any progress made, though, just an endless flood of condolences and tributes, from home and abroad. Octavia may not like Jaha (his politics or his personality) but she wouldn’t ever dare or say that he deserved this, or that his son did.

Now, the news channel plays clips of the same speech, then a recent one, where Jaha relates his hopes that one day his son will wake up.

“ _Modern medicine being what it is; there will come a day when what is unknown to us now will be known to us, and we will be able to use that knowledge for good. And I hope that, when that day comes, I will speak to my son again.”_

Miller’s lips tug down as they watch a montage of photos of Wells, smiling in all of them. He looked like an accomplished young man, well on his way to going somewhere. There’s ones of him as a child, as a teenager, graduating from high school. Personal ones too, of him with friends and family. One of him arm in arm with a young blonde woman, both grinning at something off camera. It’s gone in the blink of an eye, but Octavia is _sure_ that she saw something.

She gapes for a second, scrambling for the remote.

“O, what’re-”

“Rewind it! Rewind it!” Octavia hisses, wrenching the remote from Miller’s hands and jabbing the buttons herself. She freezes the screen on the picture of Wells and the blonde, staring at it dumbly.

“Oh my god.” Miller murmurs, stunned.

“That’s…oh my god.” Octavia repeats Miller’s sentiment (because right now she can’t actually believe what she’s seeing).

They both stare at the picture of Clarke, happier than they’ve ever seen her, holding on to the President’s son’s arm.

“Hey, why’ve you paused…oh.” Raven says as she limps out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea-towel. Octavia turns quickly in her seat, bracing herself on the back of the couch and looking straight at her friend, with wide eyes and a lowered jaw. Raven’s face is carefully blank, but she meets Octavia’s eyes and looks pained for a brief moment. Octavia can see that whatever she’s thinking about is weighing pretty damn heavily on her mind, and it’s not surprising.

“Is that Clarke?” Octavia asks quickly, throwing an arm back and gesturing at the television screen. Raven looks away, licking her lips. “Raven, is that my _roommate_ with Wells Jaha?”

Raven seems torn, closing her eyes for a beat. She pulls on her ponytail and shakes her head, her face anguished.

Then she nods jerkily, and Octavia sags against the cushions like a deflating balloon.

“But you can’t say anything, Octavia! _Promise me_.” Raven says emphatically, hobbling to the couch and taking hold of Octavia’s hands. “Clarke can’t deal with it, not now.”

“Is that…Is that why-”

“Why she’s so messed? Partly.” Raven talks quietly. “I don’t know a lot about it – it’s not like she’s eager to talk about it. But I know they were friends – best friends - and that she nearly lost it when he was shot.” Raven looks away, biting her lip. “It was only a week before her dad died.”

Octavia feels like she’s been punched straight in the heart. She struggles to breathe, her chest heaving.

“ _Oh my god_.” She whispers, “Clarke…”

Raven nods, her eyes shiny. She gathers Octavia towards her, wrapping the younger girl in a hug. “I know, I know. But she’s okay now. And she’ll keep getting better, I promise.”

A sob rips its way out of Octavia’s chest, and she can feel the warmth of Miller’s palm on her shoulder. She doesn’t even know why she’s crying; it’s not like she’s the one who had people dying around her. Peripherally, she’s aware of Murphy and Emori emerging from the kitchen (both covered in an alarming amount of chocolate). Octavia pulls herself from Raven’s arms.

“But _tonight_ , Raven! We we’re-”

“Hey!” Raven places both of her hands on Octavia’s cheeks and forces her to meet Raven’s eyes. “I okayed tonight, and I wouldn’t’ve if I didn’t think she could cope.” She says firmly. “So dry your eyes, and put it to the back of your mind.”

Octavia takes a deep, steadying breath. Murphy and Emori move around the couch so they can see the TV screen.

“So princess knew the prez’s kid.” Murphy muses, sucking chocolate off of his thumb. Miller sends him a warning glare.

“Not tonight, Murphy.”

“Or ever.” Raven adds, pursing her lips. She looks at Murphy sternly, who shrugs. Emori smacks him on the back of the head, her eyes flicking between the television and the people in the room. Octavia casts another look at the screen, catching sight of Clarke’s frozen grin and feels her lips start to quiver. Raven sighs.

She swipes her thumbs across Octavia’s cheeks, then pats them lightly. “C’mon. We still have cakes to bake.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, call me soft, but I couldn't kill off Wells (he's my hero, and my favourite 5eva)
> 
> Any comments are always welcome!!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the party and the quiet afterwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg guys i am so sorry! it's been so long since the last update, but hopefully this will make up for it? idk.  
> But, as per, thanks goes to my wonderful betas, and to all of you who read this train-wreck and actually like it. 
> 
> ps, i reciieved some advice on where to split chapters and stuff, (thank you, Hawkin) so the first few paragraphs might seem a bit familiar, but overall, the transition should be smoother and read better

By the time seven o’ clock rolls around, Octavia is pretty sure she’s drunk.

(In fact, she knows she’s drunk, but if anyone asks her she’ll refuse it hotly and ask if _they’re_ drunk)

But everyone else is much the same, and Raven and Emori are currently giggling into their drinks as they watch Murphy try to reach the highest shelf so he can dust (why on earth he’s still dusting, Octavia doesn’t know. But Murphy’s trying to do it all without any sort of help, so it’s damn amusing to watch). They’re completely distracted by his flailing limbs, and the string of _very_ inventive swears tumbling out of his mouth.

So they get a surprise when the door opens and Bellamy and Clarke walk in (a good foot between them), Jasper, Monty and Maya on their heels. There's an echoing silence as their latest guests hover just inside the threshold (never mind the fact that is Bellamy’s house, because he looks as confused and dissociated as the rest of them).

Miller cheers at the sight of his boyfriend (because he may have also been drinking a lot) and rushes over to kiss Monty. Octavia avoids looking over at the door, because she’s sure if she sees Clarke her knee-jerk reaction will be to burst into tears.

Monty reels back as Miller crashes into him. Miller grins.

“Hey, babe.”

“Hey…?” Monty replies, looking around his tipsy boyfriend to the rest of them. Murphy choses that moment to jump and try and swipe the feather duster along the shelf – resulting in him head butting the shelf then tumbling straight back to the ground. Raven and Octavia immediately dissolve into teary laughter, and there’s stunned silence from the doorway (apart from Miller, who would be laughing, but is too busy trying to keep kissing Monty).

Murphy lies flat on his back, the duster forgotten as he holds both of his hands to his forehead. Emori gasps, half laughing as she kneels beside him and looks at his face.

“You okay, John?” She asks, smirking.

“M’okay,” He replies. Emori kisses him on the nose.

Clarke throws her hand bag on one of the armchairs, striding over to where Murphy’s lying. She crouches beside him and helps pull him to his feet. “You started drinking without us?” She asks, mock hurt.

Octavia giggles, because Clarke looks fine (so there’s really no reason to start crying) “It was Raven’s idea. We played H while we were making the garlic bread. Oh!” She remembers then that it’s all still in the oven, so she pulls away from Raven, still giggling, and runs towards the kitchen. She clips her hip on a low cabinet on the way past, spinning her. She tries to turn it into a pirouette and nearly falls flat on her face.

“The bread, Pocahontas!”  Raven calls.

“On it!”

She gets the bread out of the oven without burning it, and moves it to the grill where it’ll keep warm. When she gets back to the living room everyone is settled, so she takes a seat by Bellamy, perching on the arm of his chair.

“Is everyone here?” Bellamy asks, sounding weary. Octavia smacks his arm (he was against Octavia’s little party, but was overruled by his flatmates 2:1, so he just had to take it).

“No. Lincoln and Wick.”

“Wick?” Raven gasps, after inhaling half of her drink and choking on it. “ _Wick_?”

Octavia grins and wiggles her eyebrows. “It’s a _party_ , Raven. Wick is fun!”

“Yeah, Rae knows how ‘fun’ he is,” Clarke mutters, smirking. Raven scowls at both of them, holding up her middle finger, then moving her hand slowly so both of them get the full effect of it.

“Um, Lincoln and Wick?” Maya asks hesitantly. Octavia grins, leaning forward, but is beaten to speaking by Jasper (who’s sat as close to Maya as a person possibly can be without sitting on her lap).

“Lincoln’s Octavia’s boyfriend, and Wick’s the guy who lives across the hall.”

“And Wick’s also the one who Raven _liiiiikes_ ,” Octavia sings, snickering as Raven mimes aiming a coaster at her head. “Who she wants to _kiiiiiiissss_ , and lo-”

The coaster clips Octavia’s eyebrow, and would have sent her sprawling if not for Bellamy’s arm appearing around her waist. Octavia glares at Raven, who’s holding her arms up like she’s just won something. Clarke has her face in her hands and is groaning loudly.

“He’s still coming over,” Octavia says, pouting and rubbing her brow bone. Bellamy sighs heavily.

“O. Shut up.”

“I actually think this is good fun,” Murphy says, grinning. He’s sat on the floor in front of Emori, his head resting on her knees. Emori smiles down at him indulgently, her good hand pinching one of his cheeks.

“That’s why no one ever asks for your opinions,” Bellamy replies snarkily, at the same time Clarke asks flatly,

“And who cares what you think?”

They turn to look at each other, surprised. Then Clarke laughs, and Bellamy smirks, and out of the corner of her eye Octavia catches Miller giving Murphy a tiny high-five.

“Alright!” Octavia declares, dropping her hand away from the slowly growing egg on her forehead, “Wick and Lincoln are _late_ , so we’re doing the first-” She looks over to Raven and laughs, “ _second_ – round of shots without them!”

There’s cheers from everyone, but the thing that sticks with Octavia is the way Bellamy and Clarke are still looking at each other, their smiles soft and hesitant and full of regret. That is, until Jasper stands up so fast he falls backwards onto Maya, and Monty laughs so hard that he starts wheezing, and Miller declares that he’ll have to give him mouth to mouth. Raven catches Octavia by the elbow and tugs her off of the armchair, already on their way to Bellamy’s liquor cabinet (which was actually just a few shelves in one of the kitchen cupboards, but whatever. They liked to pretend that they’re fancy).

“Hey,” Raven says, kicking Miller on the way past, “Stop trying to eat your boyfriend. This dinner-party was your idea, so you’re gonna help us.”

“And,” Octavia sings, leaning down to pat his stubbly cheeks, “It’s _totes_ your fault if we all die of food poisoning.”

“Hey!” Emori calls, her voice indignant and her face offended. “I’ll have you know that I made this meal, and that I am an _excellent_ cook. It’s not my problem that you two can’t get your act together.” Murphy lifts his head up to nod in support.

“Yeah, well, my not being able to cook is obviously genetic,” Octavia folds her arms and does her best to stare her brother down. Bellamy snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Say that to the pizza rolls that were the only thing you ate for a whole month.” He says smugly.

“I was eight.” Octavia protests.  

“Oh, man. D’you remember the casserole Mrs Miller made to tempt Octavia away from them?” Murphy asks, sitting up and staring at Bellamy with wide eyes. Bellamy nods solemnly, his own eyes slipping shut as he remembers. (it was a damn good casserole. Octavia sometimes dreams of it)

“Jesus, do I remember.”

“You people are so weird,” Miller says, still wrapped up around Monty. “It was literally just a casserole.”

“Okay, no.” Octavia says quickly, stumbling in her haste to cover Miller’s mouth up. “Do not slander Julie’s cooking. Your own _mother_.”

Miller rolls his eyes and then licks her hand, and Octavia flails backwards, shrieking. Monty’s head falls back in exasperation as he tries to lean away from his boyfriend.

“Practically sacrilege,” Bellamy states, folding his arms and staring down his nose at Miller. Murphy pokes Emori’s knee until she nods with him.

“Christ,” Raven mutters, looking between them all. Clarke seems just as weirded out.

“You’re seriously arguing over a casserole?” She asks, her eyebrows pushed together. It’s a question to the room, but Bellamy’s the one to answer it (which probably takes them both by surprise).

Bellamy looks down right shocked at her question. “Are _you_ being serious?”

“What?” Clarke blinks at him.

“There must be some food that you’d fight _anyone_ over.”

“That my mother made?” Clarke smirks at her own question. “No. Although; the cook we had when I was eight made wonderful ratatouille.”

“’Ratatouille’” Raven parrots, “you’re so _fancy_.’ She drawls, wagging her eyebrows. Octavia sticks out her little fingers and mimes drinking out of a teacup.

“All right, fuck off and get our damn drinks,” Clarke says, struggling to hold back her laugh. But Raven stays where she is; until Clarke stands up and starts nudging her towards the kitchen, calling over her shoulder for Octavia to ‘get her ass into gear and join them’.

They make it into the kitchen eventually (God only knows how) and once there they decide that it’s also the best time to start serving up dinner. It takes a while, but eventually they’ve sorted out plates and dishes and bowls, and doled out the appropriate amount of lasagne (somehow there’s a portion of it on the floor in an almost perfect square. Magic) they start a chain of hand-overs to get the food to people. In the middle of that Clarke passes out a round of shots, and Raven and Octavia take theirs in the doorway then get straight back to work.

The two missing guests are finally present when everything is eventually sorted, and Clarke has managed to gain control of the TV remote and has put on some sort of sport. (There’s a green field with white lines, and lots of little men running around in red and in blue. But that could be _anything_ )

Raven groans, though Octavia isn’t sure whether that’s due to the programme choice or the fact that Wick’s sitting next to Miller, already a Desperados down.

“Soccer, Clarke? Really?” She laments, thumping down a paisley patterned bowl (Murphy’s, oddly enough. He’s a great supporter of designer homeware) and then flopping down on the sofa by her best friend. Clarke grins and holds the remote out of Raven’s reach.

“It’s the Liverpool derby, Reyes. Don’t be such a bitch.”

“Of course; meaningless games in a far off country. So important.” (Raven has got sarcasm down to an absolute T)

Clarke flicks her nose.

Bellamy’s kitchen table only seats four, so Octavia had improvised with a combination of knee height coffee tables scrounged from various places, and a heck of a lot of lap-trays, which are all now out and in use. Jasper, Monty, Miller and Wick are sat around a coffee table, already competing for elbow space. Lincoln and Bellamy have an armchair each, and Clarke, Emori, Maya and Raven share the couch.

Octavia passes one of the final bowls to Emori, demands that people start digging in, and then plants herself in Lincoln’s lap. She grins at her brother, and Bellamy glowers and looks away until Raven stretches out and clips him in the shin with her foot.

“Not cool, Big Blake. Play nice,” She warns.

“Yeah, Bellamy. God.” Jasper echoes loudly, wobbling his head. Octavia peers at him.

“How much have you had to drink, Jas?”

Maya snorts, and Jasper answers belligerently, “Not _that_ much! Like, not even a little bit. Clarke gave me a shot, and, and…stuff. So, not a lot.” He finishes, blinking down at his lasagne.

“Bull _shit_ ,” Raven and Wick chime at the same time. Clarke nearly chokes on a piece of her dinner, and Raven immediately goes a bright shade of pink. She tries to play it off by rolling her eyes and pulling a face, but the blush in her cheek only worsens when Wick turns around to face her. He winks.

“What’s the score?” Raven asks loudly, clearing her throat, meeting Clarke’s bemused stare without flinching.

Emori mutters an exasperated ‘oh my _god_ ’ at the same time Jasper smacks Monty on the arm and says to him excitedly, and with wide eyes, “WICKEN.”

* * *

 

“It’s _working_ ,” Octavia mutters in Raven’s ear later, giggling when her friend smiles and tries to force a bite of cake between her lips. It ends up more over her face than in her mouth, icing and chocolate sprinkles going everywhere.

It’s maybe eleven o’ clock, and she’s pretty sure that Lincoln’s stood somewhere behind her; and also that she’s drunk, but not as drunk as she _could_ be. But in the living room, Bellamy and Clarke are settled on one of the armchairs; Clarke in Bellamy’s lap and her legs slung sideways over the arm of the chair. Wick has set up his infamous sound system, and music floats from nearly every corner of every room in the apartment.

Raven nods solemnly, drawing back her hand to lick the icing off of her fingers. Octavia wants to make a suggestion that she wait and let Wick do that for her, but she can’t quite think of the right words. She jumps when an arm wraps around her waist, turning quickly.

“Oh, Lincoln. I remember.”

“You have cake all over your face, Tav,” Lincoln shakes his head in disbelief. Octavia grins.

“That was Raven’s fault.” She says firmly, pointing to the mess of sponge and icing that coats Raven’s hands. Raven wiggles her fingers in response, cackling. Lincoln doesn’t seem to believe her, because his eyebrows are still raised and his lips have a funny purse to them that just makes Octavia want to kiss him. So she does.

Raven whistles, and Octavia briefly feels fingers dig into her side, just above her hips. It tickles. She pulls away from Lincoln with a giggle, using his chest as a headrest.

“You need to remember,” Raven has a look on her face like she’s dealing out age-old wisdom, very solemn and serious, “That if you’re gonna have sex; take it elsewhere. S’your brother’s house.” she taps her own nose and then Octavia’s leaving more cake over both of their faces. Octavia breaks down into more giggles, but she thinks of a comeback before Raven can leave.

“Any _you_ need to remember that there’s only one bathroom here, so if you’re gonna have sex; take it to Wick’s!” She crows, holding her fists up. Lincoln shakes his head and laughs softly, pressing his forehead onto her shoulder.

“You’re drunk, Tavia.” He says quietly, and Octavia nods.

“Yup!” She turns, stretching her arms so she can drum her fingers along the lines of his neck tattoos. “ _Sooo_ , you need to get drunk too, so I don’t feel silly tomorrow.”

“Is that a good plan?”

“It’s the _best_ plan,” Octavia assures him, smiling winsomely. She spies a cup of something on the kitchen counter (it’s maybe rum and coke. It’s certainly coke and something, but there’s a wide range of potential liquor to choose from) and presses it into his hands. Then there’s a hand around her elbow and she’s being pulled away from her nearly-sober boyfriend and into the living room of madness.

Jasper is eating cold lasagne out of the dish, and Maya and Monty are balancing cutlery and nick-nacks on a sleeping Miller. Wick is helping, hovering over the armchair, throwing in hints about structural stability and weight distribution, and as she’s watching, he quickly builds a spoon tower on Miller’s forehead and tops it with a monopoly piece (the old boot, which makes Octavia giggle even more than the tower does). Their game of monopoly hadn’t lasted long, because Murphy had decided to make his own board after five minute of playing, creating new landmarks and buildings in ‘The Land of Light’ for them to all fight over. Then he’d declared that the jail was actually a pit full of giant leeches and there was no return from it, which was fine until Raven landed on Emori’s hotel in the Dead Zone and couldn’t pay, and was then eaten by a leech in the jail. She’d flipped the board and called it the stupidest game ever.

Wick looks up as they walk in, and his face creases into an easy smile at the sight of Raven; messy and bright eyed.

“You having fun, Reyes?” He teases. Raven scoffs and tosses her ponytail (which is loose and fraying and nearly not a ponytail at all).

“Your towers about to fall, Wick.”

“Pffft, as if. My tower is _amazing_.” Wick brags, taking a sip of his drink. Octavia has no idea what he’s moved onto, but it’s obviously heavier than Desperadoes. Raven hobbles to Miller’s side, her crutches forgotten somewhere. Wick looks alarmed and concerned, but then Raven lowers herself down using her hands and carefully, oh so carefully, reaches out and pings the old boot off of the top of the tower.

Wick’s face is an absolute picture. He looks at Raven in betrayal, his hands coming up to his chest and clutching at the space over his heart.

“ _Reyes_ ,” he says emphatically, “My _tower_ ,”

“It was a pretty shitty tower,” Raven says breezily as she leans forward and flicks the bottom spoon. It sends the whole tower down, and spoons slide off Miller’s face and onto the floor, clattering on to the carpet. Jasper looks up at the noise, his cheeks hamster-like and stuffed with food. Maya and Monty clutch at each other and reel back, expecting a tongue lashing from Miller, but it doesn’t come. Miller sleeps straight through, with little more than an extra exhale at the incident.

“Now,” Raven states, bending to pick up spoons and gathering an armful of tat towards her, “I will show you how to build a tower.”

Wick grins toothily at her, and leans back to watch her work. “You go, wrench monkey,” he murmurs.

Octavia turns to her boyfriend, forcing her jaw down to full convey her shock.

“What?” Lincoln asks, draping his arm over her shoulder.

“They’re _flirting_ ,” Octavia hisses, dragging him over to the couch.

“What is this? Elementary? She knocked over his tower and’s trying to build a better one.” Lincoln huffs amusedly, sprawling down onto the couch and letting Octavia fall on top of him. She nestles her head under his chin, and twists slowly to look at her brother and her roommate.

They’re in a really weird position. Clarke is still sat on top of Bellamy, her feet dangling, and Bellamy is still curved around her, one of his arms thrown across her legs. But now his elbow is propped on Clarke’s knee and he’s holding onto her arm and using his other hand to point at it in random spots. And they’re smiling, but it isn’t the usual ‘everything is fine’ smiles. It’s more like ‘we’re pretending everything is fine’ smiles (and, god, that’s worrying).

Octavia cranes her neck and strains to hear more.

“Extensor capri ulnandis.” Bellamy says, his finger on the side of Clarke’s forearm. Clarke shakes her head, laughing. Her shoes are gone, her hair has come tumbling out of its braid, and the woolly jumper has been tossed across the room. Clarke looks happy and relaxed; a far cry from the last time she and Bellamy were this close together. But she isn’t sat as close to Bellamy as she could be, and he isn’t smirking nearly enough.

It’s a strange thing to be watching.

“Extensor carpi ulnaris,” Clarke corrects, her smile wide. She sounds as if she’s reciting out of a text book, and Bellamy doesn’t look all that bothered that he got something wrong. “Originating in the lateral epicondyle of the humerus and the posterior border of the ulna, inserting at the fifth metacarpal.”

“Extensor cap- _carpi_ ulnardis-“

“Ulnaris,”

“That’s what I said!” Bellamy protests, but without the heat that normally starts their arguments. The two of them are better, that’s plain to see, but they’re still walking on eggshells. (She’ll fix that, by the end of the night. Her, Raven, and copious amounts of alcohol)

“Nuh-uh,” Clarke replies, pushing her arm close to his face. She points to the spot herself, her smile not quite as sly as it could be. “ _Ulnaris_ ,”

Bellamy squints at her, “Yeah, well, almost-doctor,” he says, throwing her arm down into her lap. “What was Augustus’ full name?”

“Oh, I know this one!” Octavia calls, waving an arm to catch the pair’s attention, “Caesar Divi Filius Augustus!”

Clarke and Bellamy turn to look at her. Octavia can feel Lincoln’s laughter running through him, especially when he presses his face into her shoulder blade to stifle his guffaws.

“That question wasn’t for you, Tav,” he wheezes. Octavia twists her head to look at him, then back to Clarke and Bellamy. Bellamy has his eyebrows pushed high on his forehead, torn between pride and disbelief; and Clarke looks undeniably impressed.

“Are all Blakes such massive nerds?” She asks, leaning out of Bellamy’s lap to grab her glass.

“Hey!”

“It’s not like it’s my fault!” Octavia protests, easing out of Lincoln’s hold so she can sit up. “You do know why I’m called Octavia, right?”

“No?” Clarke replies from around her straw, settling back into her place on Bellamy’s knee. His arm somehow falls across her shoulders and, as Octavia watches, Clarke leans in towards him (so maybe they’re okay together when they don’t think about it? Octavia will break it down with Raven in the morning).

“Well, it’s because this dork,” Octavia points at her brother, who rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, “was allowed to name me. At seven years old, our mother though it would be a good idea to let him name a new born baby.”

“And he chose ‘Octavia’?” Clarke murmurs in mild disbelief.

“Yes, he chose Octavia. Because even at seven, he was the biggest fucking history nerd to ever grace the planet. _Augustus had a sister_ ,” she mutters. Bellamy blows her a kiss. “Augustus actually had two sisters.”

“Yeah, but they were both called Octavia, so I don’t see your point.”

“My point is that you should never be allowed to name a child. What would you have called me if I were a boy; Caesarion?”

“Caesarion was an adopted brother,” Bellamy says, his teacher voice in full effect.

“Oh, shit, I must have missed that documentary!” Octavia says insincerely, her eyes wide. She presses a finger to her chin and pretends to think, “Maybe I feel asleep after you forced me to watch the fucking six part-er on the rise and fall of the Roman Empire?”

“You like the one on the Third Serville War!”

“That’s because Spartacus is _the best_!”

“ _Nerds_ ,” Clarke mock-whispers, making eye contact with Lincoln, who snorts and leans back to listen to his girlfriend argue with her brother about which first century gladiator was the best.

* * *

Its midnight when Jasper declares a pillow fight. He only gets a chance to throw one hit.

The pillow crashes into Miller’s head, destroying the massive construction that Wick and Raven had built over the officer’s chest and face. It had been tall and wide, with turrets and towers and, somehow, a working drawbridge. The pair has spent the whole hour building it, doing their weird mechanic-engineer flirting thing the whole time. Wick had been giving Raven bedroom eyes over a fork and rubber-band spire.

It’s almost slow motion how the whole thing comes down. Raven and Wick leap up at the same time, turning to Jasper with furious looks on their faces. Miller finally wakes up, spluttering and flailing.

“What the fuck?” He demands, his voice thick and sleepy.

“Yeah, what the _fuck_ ,” Raven scowls, automatically reaching for Wick’s shoulder to support herself. “You broke our castle!”

“That shit was _concentric_ ,” Wick says mournfully, “I was working on crenulations!”

“How the fuck did I sleep through this?” Miller mumbles to his boyfriend, his brow furrowed. Monty shrugs, staying sat next to Maya, his laptop between them. Octavia isn’t sure, but she thinks Monty is teaching Maya how to hack into things. Seeing that he’s getting nowhere with Monty, Miller turns to Wick and Raven. “Why were you even piling things on me?”

“Because it’s fun,” Wick says immediately, his hands on his hips and his eyes never leaving Jasper – who is slowly backing towards Bellamy’s armchair.

“Plus, you’re an easy base to work on,” Monty adds nonchalantly, not looking away from the laptop screen, “very firm.”

In the moment everyone takes to turn to Monty in disbelief, Jasper flees from Wick and Raven, scrambling over to take Clarke’s place on Bellamy’s lap.

“Save me!” He wails, throwing his arms around Bellamy’s neck. Bellamy grimaces and pulls back, but Jasper clings to him like a barnacle. Clarke pokes her head out the kitchen at the sound, and looks over the room curiously. She flicks her chin at Miller and the clutter surrounding him.

“What happened to the castle?”

“Him.” Raven points a finger at Jasper, who whimpers and tries to curl closer to Bellamy.

“It was a good castle,” Clarke says idly, leaning against the door frame. She eyes Jasper. “Jas?”

“They’re gonna get me,” He whines.

“Well, you did destroy their castle.” Bellamy tells him. Clarke makes a breathy noise of exasperation, and gives Bellamy a narrow-eyed look. Jasper lifts his head from Bellamy’s shoulder, his eyes wide and wet.

“I didn’t _mean_ to, Bellamy!”

Bellamy glances at Clarke in helpless, pointed disbelief, his arms thrown out, and for the first time that night it seems as if the pair of them are back to normal. They have a staring competition for a few seconds, then Bellamy breaks it off with a huff. He pats Jasper’s back.

“They’re not going to murder you, Jasper.”

“We might,” Raven smirks. Her hair is completely out of her pony tail, and her arm is resting on Wick’s shoulder. Behind them, Miller has shuffled off the couch and into Monty’s arms, where he looks as if he’s quickly dozing off again. “Kyle and I worked hard on that.”

Clarke freezes in her glaring at Bellamy, and turns to Raven ever so slowly. Raven seems to notice her mistake at the same time Octavia does, because as Octavia bolts up to sitting, Raven’s face becomes a perfect mask of horror.

“Kyle?” Octavia grins, looking between Clarke and Raven, and then between Raven and Wick. Wick doesn’t look bothered – except for the spots of colour high in his cheeks, and the way his arm creeps around Raven’s waist and squeezes her hip.

“You know, I didn’t even know that Wick wasn’t your first name.” Clarke smirks, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah, well; fuck off, Griffin.” Raven mutters.

“Sure thing, Reyes.” She winks. Raven pulls a face and pulls away from Wick, catching his hand.

“There’s more cutlery in the kitchen,” she mutters, already leading him away from the circle of seats. She limps slightly, and in seconds Wick’s arm is back around her waist. Clarke step away from the doorway, biting her lip to keep in her grin, and bumps her shoulder with Raven’s as she walks past.

“Hey,” Jasper says suddenly, sitting up straight and leaning away from Bellamy, “Where’s Memori?”

“You need to stop with the ship names,” Clarke laughs, peering into the kitchen after Raven and Wick and getting a wooden spoon thrown at her face. She runs away from it, flopping down onto the couch next to Octavia and Lincoln.

“No but seriously,” Octavia looks around, and sure enough; Murphy and Emori are missing. “Did they go out or something?”

Bellamy snorts and Clarke ducks her head. Octavia looks at Lincoln in bewilderment, patting his hand rapidly to demand he tell her.

“Whaaaaat?”

Lincoln smiles softly, pulling her back against his chest. His breath stirs the hairs on her neck as he whispers to her that they’d disappeared in Murphy’s bedroom over half an hour ago.

* * *

 

“Maya?”

“Yeah, Jas?”

“Did you like the dinner?”

“I did, yeah.”

“That’s good. I-I’m glad. Everyone likes you.”

“Well, I like everyone, too.”

Octavia can hear Jasper and Maya talking from inside the apartment, even as they head down the stairs of the building. Maya had called it a night, and Jasper was heading back to campus too (everyone knew that he’d be fine sleeping on the floor, or in the bath like they’d found him that one time, but it was undeniably adorable how he’d held onto Maya’s hand as they left the apartment). Bellamy was walking both of them down the stairs to make sure that neither of them took a tumble on their way to the taxi.

Emori and Murphy still hadn’t emerged, and both Miller and Monty, and Raven and Wick had disappeared into their respective rooms and apartments, and Lincoln had kissed Octavia goodbye over an hour ago. So, as Bellamy trotted down the stairs, it was only Octavia and Clarke left in the living room.

They had the TV on again, and Clarke was trying to educate Octavia on the ‘wonders of soccer’. And so far, Octavia can’t see any (never mind the fact that Clarke had started on something called the ‘offside rule’. Octavia had groaned so loud that Miller had shouted through his door for her to shut up).

They settle down for a little while, both sprawled out over their seats, cupcakes resting on their stomachs. Clarke fetched blankets from the cupboard in Bellamy’s room, and they’re currently tucked up underneath one.

Octavia swipes the frosting off hers and watches the little men dash about on the soccer pitch. She lets her head loll and looks over to Clarke, running her eyes over her roommate’s relaxed position.

“I can feel you staring at me.”

“What? I’m not staring.”

“You’re definitely staring.” Clarke tips her head and stares at Octavia with one eye open. “What?”

Octavia worries her bottom lip, then looks back to her cupcake.

“What’s going on between you and my brother? Because you’ve been all weird since the whole kiss thi-”

“Since the what?” Clarke raises one eyebrow, and Octavia wants to melt into the couch.

“Since the uh, time you kissed Bellamy at the Dropship…”

“Oh my god, you _saw_ that?”

“I-I didn’t mean to see it!”

“Jesus, Octavia,” Clarke groans and holds her hands over her face. “Is that – Is that why you fixed tonight up?”

“Yeah,”

“Fuck’s sake, O.”

“What? I wanted you two to be friends again.” Octavia protests. Then mutters, “Or more than friends, whatever.”

Clarke looks at her sharply. “Octavia-”

“Well, there’s _something_ there. C’mon, I’m not blind. And neither’s Raven, by the way.”

“Oh my god,” Clarke says quietly, pressing herself further into the couch. “Please don’t tell me that you two have discussed this.”

“We don’t need to,” Octavia smiles at the sight, because there’s a definite blush underneath her fingers. Suddenly, Clarke sits up and throws her hands off her face.

“ _Please_ don’t say that you’ve talked to _him_ about this.”

Octavia laughs loudly, and tries to muffle the sound with the back of her hand. “I’m not stupid.”

“Well, good.” Clarke says firmly. “Because there’s nothing there.”

“Oh, come _on_ -”

“No. I will admit nothing.”

Octavia levels her with her best ‘don’t try and shit me’ stare.

“Clarke.”

“No.”

“ _Clarke_.”

“ _No._ ”

“What are you two doing?”

Octavia and Clarke shriek at the same time as Bellamy leans between the two of them from over the back of the couch. He drew back for a second, then vaulted the back to land between them.

“How did we not hear you come in?” Octavia demands, smacking him on the shoulder.

“I left the door unlocked,” Bellamy explains, swiping the cupcake off Octavia’s knee.

“Safe,” Clarke says sarcastically, snatching the cupcake and passing it back to Octavia.

Bellamy ignores her, and settles for swooping in and taking a bite out of Clarke’s cupcake instead. They squabble briefly, elbows flying and the cupcake ending up smeared between the two of them, bright smears of frosting across their faces. Clarke starts giggling first, and Bellamy follows soon after, using his thumb to wipe away part of the mess on Clarke’s face.

Octavia closes her eyes and sighs. “Bell, I’m beat. You and Clarke can have the couch; I’m taking your bed.”

She stands up and looks at them – Clarke is smiling as goofily as Bellamy is, and Bellamy has the same amount of colour in his cheeks. (Now that she thinks on it, her brother and her roommate – her _friend_ – together is actually a pretty gross concept, but at least now they’re talking)

But the sight of it is too much for her barely-sober mind to handle, so she throws her cupcake at Bellamy (she didn’t really want it to start with. She just likes the frosting) and trudges to her brother’s room. She doesn’t bother turning the lights on, just strips down to her underwear and steals a t-shirt from Bellamy’s chest-of-drawers and collapses on top of the covers. It takes an awful lot of work to twist herself underneath the quilt, but she manages it eventually.

For now, she’ll go to bed unsure of whether or not the night had been a success. But in the morning, she will pin Clarke _down,_ and between her and Raven – and group chats with Miller – the truth will soon come out, and Octavia can go back to her nice, calm life of not worrying about her brothers love-life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't make any promises about when the next one will be out, (the exam season has barely started in the UK; i still have over a month of hardcore studying and prep to go, yaayyyy) but thank you so much to everyone for sticking with this; it means the world to me!  
> I'd love to hear any comments you have on it :D


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xmas plans, or lack thereof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reached 70k! And still a slow burner, hahahahaha fml :')

“So, what are you guys doing for Christmas?”

Clarke pauses, a forkful of food halfway to her mouth. She blinks once at Octavia, as if the quickly approaching holiday season hadn’t even occurred to her (it’s not like she hadn’t been spending a good portion of each day complaining about the snow, or how winters were so _goddamn fucking cold_ in the north east).

“What?”

“Christmas!” Octavia enthuses, shuffling across Bellamy’s sofa to get closer to Clarke. “What are you guys doing?” She asks again, looking between Clarke and Raven. Raven looks up from her phone (where she’s ‘definitely not texting Wick, shut the fuck up’).

“Hadn’t really thought about it,” Raven says slowly, meeting Clarke’s eyes. Both of them shrug at the same time.

“You must be doing _something_ ,” Bellamy mumbles through a mouthful of pasta. He and Miller had tried cooking again, and this time it hadn’t ended in charcoal for dinner and having to breathe through smoke. They’d made a night of it, with booze and a film, and it was nice. A few of them hadn’t been able to make it; Jasper had an experiment to study and prepare for, and Memori (Jasper had started it, and annoyingly enough, it had stuck) we’re having a date night. Everyone else was sprawled out on the various chairs and sofas, bowls on their knees and drinks in hand.

They’re on second servings now, watching Bad Boys (Miller had learnt that Clarke had never seen it and thrown a tantrum until they all agreed to watch it) and Octavia has some cupcakes waiting in the kitchen. Monty had brought over a large bottle of moonshine – a new, disgusting peppermint flavour that will supposedly sell well over Christmas. Currently, the only way to make it palatable is to completely disguise it with orange juice, and even then it was still iffy (Monty had said that he was working on it, and the next batch wouldn’t sting their eyes so much). Only Clarke and Raven seemed able to stomach it without flinching, and had already drunk more than a few glasses of what Bellamy swore up and down was called and RIP Griffin.

“Yeah, like going home, or something,” Monty suggests. Miller nods, his arm around his boyfriends shoulder. They’re sharing an armchair, and it’s adorable in a really sickening way. The two of them keep whispering and smiling at each other, and Miller constantly has his hand on the back of Monty’s neck, fingers toying with his hair. Raven keeps looking over and retching really loudly, only to get flipped off by both of them.

“No.” Clarke and Raven say at the same time, with the same degree of finality. Octavia feels her eyebrows raise.

“You’re not gonna go home?” Bellamy asks incredulously. Clarke pins him with a blank stare.

“No, I’m not.”

Bellamy has the grace to look sheepish, remembering the same story that they’d all been told by a tearful Clarke all those weeks ago. Clarke snorts when she sees the expression, looking back to her dinner and scooping up some sauce.

“Same,” Raven mutters, taking a swig of her drink and swallowing heavily, “same.”

“Well, what did you do last year?” Octavia tries, reaching around Clarke’s back and pinching Bellamy’s shoulder. Clarke glances across to Raven, who shrugs again. Clarke raises her eyebrows.

“We _could_ try that again. Ring up Mr Lemkin up and see if the huts still empty.”

“It was pretty fucking chilly, Griffin.”

“Didn’t have to talk to anyone, though.”

“Yeah, but that kid didn’t leave us alone whenever we went outside. Whatshername,” Raven clicks her fingers, “Reece.”

“She was cute,” Clarke says, frowning. She gets out her phone. “I could try it. I mean, he leased it to us out of pity last year, but if we rang up _now_ and offered to rent it properly, he might not be so put out.”

Raven shrugs and Clarke sighs.

“Hang on,” Bellamy holds up his hands, his brows furrowed (Octavia can barely see his eyebrows from underneath his messy fringe of hair. She makes a mental note to force him to the barbers sometime soon). “You’re gonna spend Christmas _alone_?”

The two women look at each other. Raven scratches the back of her neck.

“I guess?”

“It worked out fine last year,” Clarke says, stabbing another forkful of pasta. At the expectant expressions of her friends, she continues. “We rented a hut off of this guy; Tor Lemkin, and stayed there for a few days.”

“Well, there was a bit more to it than that,” Raven discloses, putting her phone down on the coffee table. “Like how it was Christmas Eve, and we’d… lost track of the days.” She smirks at her best friend, widening her eyes and raising her eyebrows. Clarke dissolves into snickers, hiding her mouth behind her hand. Raven starts laughing too, leaving everyone else on the outside of the joke, and thoroughly confused. Finally, Clarke clears her throat.

“Okay, so yeah. We’d forgotten it was Christmas Eve.” She says, deliberately looking away from Raven, a wide grin on her face.

“How the fuck do you forget about _Christmas_?” Octavia demands, her eyes wide and confused (she puts the giggling down to the moonshine).

“We were absolutely _smashed_ ,” Raven crows, saluting them all with her glass. Octavia and Bellamy turn to Clarke at the same time, wearing identical expectant expressions. Clarke stifles her smile.

“Like Raven said; we, um. We spent a good portion of December not exactly, you know…sober.” Clarke says, staring down at her dinner and looking as if she could burst back into laughter at any second.

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Raven winks at Octavia.

“But you didn’t notice any decorations? Or songs? Nothing at all?” Monty presses, both incredulous and concerned.

Raven glances down at her drink, and Clarke stuffs another forkful of food into her mouth, both of their smiles slipping slightly.

“We kept weird hours; slept during the day and stuff,” Raven says, pursing her lips. “December’s not…” She pauses, pushing strands of hair away from her face, “It’s not a good month.”

Everyone stays quiet, waiting to see if she’ll carry on talking. Raven sharing doesn’t happen very often, and if she does it’s usually something she can brag about. Raven takes another sip of her drink, and out of the corner of her eye, Octavia spies Clarke look on encouragingly.

“I mean; alcoholic mother and an absentee dad doesn’t exactly make for a good holiday season, and…” She licks her lips, “well, times don’t get easier as you get older. And it was so soon after Finn, that I just…”

“Finn? He the-”

“Two-timing prick? That’d be the one.” Clarke interrupts Bellamy with a sharp smile, and Raven’s wince is clear to see. She carries on regardless, apparently in the mood to get a lot off her chest.

“Usually, by the time we went out all of the lights had been turned off. And tunnel vision kept our eyes on our drinks. Kind of pathetic in hindsight, but whatever.” Raven waves a hand, “It was easy to keep our distance from everything and live in our own little world of booze and self-pity,” She laughs humourlessly. Octavia looks at Clarke, her eyes narrowed to catch the expression on her roommates face.

“Made for some interesting stories, though,” Clarke says quietly.

“Yeah,” Raven agrees, “It was around then that I got this:”

She shrugs off her hoodie, showing them all the inside of her bicep. Octavia doesn’t see anything at first, but she leans closer and tilts her head, and suddenly she can make out the words written there in white ink.

“ _Yo soy mía_?”

“’I am mine’.” Clarke and Raven say at the same time.

“Oh shit,” Miller breathes, and Octavia nods in agreement (because it’s pretty heavy stuff for a Tuesday night).

“Why in white?” Bellamy asks, fingers absently going to his own tattoo; a memorial on the inside of his forearm.

“This one’s for me,” Raven explains, “Not for display. It’s…something other people should know about me without explicitly seeing it, even if I need reminding every now and again.”

She pulls her hoodie back on somewhat awkwardly, then takes a drink of her moonshine. Octavia sees something settle in her brothers expression; a whole new level of respect for the woman.

“It _was_ the same time that Clarke got some chicks name tattooed on her ass, though,” Raven says quickly, forcing a grin up on her face. Clarke splutters.

“I only got initials, and they were lasered off!”

“What about the dolphin in your foot?”

Clarke hesitates and Raven shakes her head. “You actually fucking kept it. Jesus.”

“But look at us now!” Clarke says brightly, eager to move on, “Functioning human beings!”

“We’re drinking moonshine with your underage roommate and her brother’s cop best friend,” Raven deadpans, her smile small but real.

“See, now you’re just picking holes.”

Raven snorts, and fires off something in Spanish that makes Clarke laugh and flip her off. Miller interrupts the brewing squabble with a question.

“So you got absolutely shitfaced, didn’t ever sober up, forgot about Christmas, and what? Started knocking on doors?” He asks, somewhat bluntly, earning him a _look_ from Bellamy and an elbow to the chest from Monty.

“Ew, no,” Raven wrinkles her nose, “Could you imagine? No, we drove to the closest motel, and it was closed. So we kind of panicked.” She smirks, obviously recalling what had happened. She points a finger at her best friend, “Clarke even suggested climbing over the fence and picking some locks.”

“I was _cold,_ ” Clarke protests, throwing her hands up. She gives Miller a wide, toothy grin, and he mimes shooting her with a finger gun.

“But how did you even _know_ it was Christmas Eve?” Octavia pipes up. She’s sat cross-legged on the couch, an elbow on her knee and her chin in her palm.

 _“fue la radio,_ _¿no?”_ Raven gestures to Clarke with her glass, eyebrows drawn together.

 _“No, la licorería estaba cerrada. Había un letrero en la puerta.”_ Clarke smiles, and Raven grins suddenly and turns to the rest of them.

“All of the boozers were shut.”

“Oh,” Octavia says, hiding her smirk behind her fingers.

“So how did the Lembin people find you?” Bellamy prods, curious. He’s sat the closest to Clarke, his ankles crossed and his arms over the back of the sofa. Clarke is dangerously close to leaning on him, a fact that isn’t lost on everyone else in the room.

“Lem _kin_. And, uh, we were rattling the fence and stomping about and generally getting wound up when he drove past. He asked us if we had anywhere to stay, then offered us his hunting lodge sort of thing.”

“And you took him up on it?” Miller questions, sharing a concerned look with Bellamy. Clarke and Raven both roll their eyes, and Clarke nudges Bellamy with her shoulder. He responds by dropping his arm and pinching Clarke in a spot between her hip and her ribs, one that makes her squawk and flail towards him. Bell grins down at her, and she huffs and crosses her arms, settling against his side quietly (Octavia notices that she elbows Bellamy a good few times though, but her brother just takes them with a smirk).

“Chill out, dads. He had his nine year old daughter in the front seat; not exactly the axe-murderer type. And it _was_ Christmas Eve – goodwill to all men and all that.” Raven explains, “So we followed them back in Clarke’s car, and stared at wall mounted deers all night.”

“Deer.” Miller says absently, reaching around his boyfriend to pick up his beer (he’d given up on the peppermint moonshine after a single sip, saying it was unsalvageable).

“What?” Raven squints at him. Miller looks up,

“Deer; it’s the plural of deer.”

“Oh,” Raven settles back onto the chair, “I never knew that.”

“You learn something new every time you come here,” Clarke grins, nudging Bellamy with her elbow. “Like, I learnt that Bell keeps his nail varnish in the fridge.”

“That’s Octavia’s!” He protests, over everyone’s hoots. Octavia grins and claims to have no knowledge of the tiny bottles, and the laughter in the room grows ever more hysterical as people ask where Bellamy stores the rest of his makeup.

“What colours you got, Big Blake?” Raven asks, smirking.

Bellamy shrugs, and Clarke takes a hearty sip of her drink before she answers for him. “Pink, green, and some sort of nude colour.”

“What kind of green?” She leans forward, sounding genuinely interested. Clarke thinks for a second.

“India.”

“Oo, nice.” Raven enthuses, turning to Bellamy, “Can I borrow it? I haven’t done my toes in _ages_.”

Bellamy laughs sarcastically, “Go ahead; raid my whole collection.”

Raven chirps a thank you, and Clarke stands up for her, stretching her arms as she gets up. Her shirt rises up her abdomen, and even a blind person would notice how Bellamy’s eyes immediately went to the bared skin of Clarke’s stomach. Octavia rolls her eyes in exasperation, looking across to Raven – who nods knowingly.

“Well, if you want to,” Miller says nonchalantly as Clarke’s heading to the kitchen, “You could always come have Christmas at my house.”

Clarke trips over her own feet and turns to Raven helplessly, appearing thrown.

“There’s no spare room or anything, so you’d have to find somewhere, but if you want to… the offers there. Everyone else always turns up.” He finishes, finally looking away from Monty’s hair. Raven bites her lip and looks away, and Clarke seems positively overcome.

“You don’t have to offer us that, Nathan.” Clarke says finally, her voice thick. Miller smiles and waves a hand.

“Nah. I mean, my ma always cooks enough to feed a small army anyways, so you’d probably be doing us a favour by helping us eat it.”

“Plus, you’d get to taste Julie’s cooking!” Octavia exclaims, fully on board with this new idea (because she may have already picked out a present for both of the women, and would very much to present them on the day. And there’s always the fact that the two of them have quickly became part of the group that Octavia cherishes with every beat of her heart).

“And if you need a place to stay you can always have the spare at ours,” Bellamy offers, meeting Clarke’s eyes steadily. “You’d have to share, but there’s a double bed.”

Clarke’s face is open and soft, and surprisingly, so is Raven’s. They look at each other for a bare second, and Raven smiles wryly (she’s also blinking pretty hard, which Octavia takes as a good sign).

“Don’t think we’re gonna get a better offer anywhere else,” She says flippantly (as if that would disguise how much the offer clearly means to her), and Clarke huffs a short laugh. “Food should be better than re-heated gas-station food, anyways.”

“Damn right! Oh my god, you guys haven’t even _lived_.” Octavia beams at both of them, near to vibrating with excitement. Before Miller brought it up, she hadn’t even considered inviting Raven and Clarke back to their home for Christmas – she just assumed they’d stay in the dorms and that Octavia would visit. But the plan that Bell and Miller have put forward is now Octavia’s favourite thing ever.

“If your parents are okay with it; then yeah, that’d be lovely.” Clarke says finally, a small smile curving her lips. It’s an oddly vulnerable expression.

“Pfft,” Miller waves a hand, “They’ve had Murphy and Bell at the table for half a decade – you two will be an absolute treat for them.” Raven and Clarke blush simultaneously, and Clarke crosses the distance between her and Miller to give him a hug. When she’s finished, Raven stretches out a hand to pat his forearm, offering him a grateful smile.

Clarke hugs Bellamy too, propping her knee on the couch as she lets herself be folded into his arms. Her chin rests on his shoulder, and Bellamy’s hand goes to the back of her head, fingers tangling in the pale gold of her hair.

Monty stifles his ‘aww’ with his hand, and everyone else stares at the pair quietly, revelling in how cute the two of them are. Octavia slips her phone from her pocket and sneaks a few photos to send to the various people who need to be updated on the Clarke/Bellamy situation (she refuses to call them Bellarke. Memori may have stuck, but Octavia is not going to let Jasper slip anymore of his made-up words into her vocabulary. Unless she’s talking to Clarke, of course, because then it’s _hilarious_ ).

She texts Murphy first, and his reply is several different emojis to show his amazement, and a snapchat from him and Emori – both clutching their hands over their hearts and swooning. Jasper’s reaction is a bit more violent; along the lines of him locking the Caps button then smashing several lines of text out in his excitement. He’s not that much more coherent when he finally reigns himself in.

**IS THIS REAL? IS THIS HAPPENING? IS BELLARKE SAILING OCTAVIA DO I NEED TO COME OVER THERE? OMG I AM SO EXCITED WHY IS CHEMISTRY A THING THAT I HAVE TO DO. I COULD BE DRINKING AND WATCHING THE MAGIC UNFOLD. LIFE IS UNFAIR BUT ALSO MAGICAL. BELLAAAAAAARKE.**

_I knoooooow, it was because Bell invited C & R home for Xmas_

**NO WAY. TOO CUTE. TOO. C U T E. WHY AM I NOT THERE RN? I SHOULD COME OVER.**

**No but for srs do I need to see this in person? Bc I so will. trust me**

_Don’t u have an exam at 9?_

**Pfft**

_Jas_

**FUCK CHEMISTRY MY SHIP IS SAAAAAAILING.**

Octavia chokes on her laugh as she tucks her phone away, watching as Clarke disentangles from Bellamy to go fetch the nail varnish for Raven. Her cheeks are decidedly pink as she pulls away - as are Bellamy’s.  Everyone turns to Bell with raised eyebrows as Clarke departs, and he gives them all a half-hearted glare.

“All you people need lives.” He mutters, but there’s no heat behind the statement, only embarrassment. Octavia scoots next to her brother and grins up at him, across the room Miller flashes him a thumbs up, Monty winks, and Raven lets out a low, catcalling whistle. Bellamy’s face heats up even more, and he mumbles something about needing to sort out leftovers before he’s up and on his way to the kitchen.

“Goners, the both of them.” Raven states, folding her arms. She turns to Miller with a one eyebrow quirked, “Wanna bet that they fuck over Christmas?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT. for srs tho, idk where my mojo has gone. But it's summer now, and exams are OVER, so maybe my brain will get back into the swing of things :')  
> I'd love to hear anything you have to say about this chapter :)
> 
> ((ALSO, the Spanish should be 'it was the radio, no?' 'No, the liquor store was shut. There was a sign in the door'.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY I'VE BEEN ABSENT FOR ABAR TEN YEARS. SO SO SORRY.
> 
> so yeah, this is kind of a short chapter, because i've slowly started writing this again in stops and starts, and i didn't want to drop myslef into a mahoosive chapter i'd never finish. but yeah, sorry about the wait. (so so sorry)

The house Octavia grew up in is an hour away from Ark, in a town called Walden. It’s far from the bustle and noise of the small city; a place where everyone knows everyone else’s business. It may not have been kind to the Blakes when Octavia and Bellamy’s mother died, but as intrusive and judgemental as it was, in a way it still is Octavia’s home. (Though, for her, ‘home’ is wherever Bellamy is - but that little house in that little town can claim part of that title too)

She’s actually quite excited to be going back. It seems like it’s been years since she’d just been able to troop over the road to Millers, or when she had to sneak out of the house to go out with Jasper and Miller, or all the times she used to wake up at the weekend to three messy-haired boys blinking at the sunlight after they’d stayed up all night playing video games.

And quite honestly, she’s gotten bored of pizza and only-just edible food. Bellamy has gotten steadily better, and the faux-dinner parties are now a weekly thing; but Miller just can’t compare to his mother. Octavia’s stomach grumbles at the mere thought of Julie Miller’s usual Christmas fare. (Miller wasn’t lying when he said that his mom made enough to feed a small army. Octavia’s surprised that the dinner table hasn’t broken under the weight of all the food regularly piled on it).

Sat beside Bellamy in his pickup truck, her feet on the dash, Octavia’s only worry is how their guests will react to the slightly shoddy state of the house. Between the two of them, Octavia and Bellamy have always managed to keep the house in working order (Well, Miller may have helped as well; and Monty and his dad may have rewired a few rooms; and Jasper’s family had spent a few afternoons helping them keep the garden in order; and Sherriff Miller may have helped them wallpaper. Okay, so the whole house was a group effort, but Octavia took pride in it nonetheless.)

As far as she remembers, the kitchen tap still drips, and the shower is more cold than it was warm, and most of the doors still creak awfully. There’re some issues with peeling paint and chipped sideboard too, and there’s an absolute _bitch_ of a next door neighbour, but that old biddy usually goes south for Christmas (and thank _god_ for that, because Octavia remembers a story about one of the girls getting in to it with an OAP, and Octavia really doesn’t want to give a witness statement).

Octavia glances into Bellamy’s rear-view, her eyes on the small, but hard to miss, convoy of vehicles behind them. Clarke and Raven are in the shiny Mercedes – which is once again chock full of stuff, because apparently Christmas in the Griffin family requires a _lot_ of outfits – and behind that was Miller’s blue hand-me-down Honda, containing both him and Monty, and Jasper as well. The latter’s continuous stream of texts informed Octavia that he didn’t mind third-wheeling in the slightest, and was actually enjoying himself. Bringing up the rear was Murphy on his bike, with Emori wrapped around him. Why on earth they were braving the cold, Octavia didn’t know, but, wrapped up in leathers and jet black helmets on their heads, they didn’t half make a cool looking couple.

Miller and Murphy veered off at the first intersection when they got to Walden, towards the various blocks of flats that occupied the outskirts of the town, which was where Murphy had lived ever since his parents had died (visited regularly by the Millers, of course) and Bellamy led Clarke down the main road until they got to their housing estate. Octavia was hit by memories all the way – both fond and not-so-fond - and she caught Bellamy’s little smile as they drove past the tree that she got stuck in when she was twelve. (It was a tall tree, and she was only up there because Murphy had convinced her that if she could get to the top she’d be made queen of the squirrels. It was a simpler time)

The bright, almost lurid orange of their small, two storey house is visible from all the way down at the end of the road. More memories rush up to Octavia as they draw ever closer. Little details about watching her mother plant flowers in the windowsill boxes, having to mow the lawn with a mower that was older than she was, and locking Bellamy out of the house after he threatened to beat her prom date up.

The gaps between the paving stones on their drive had been overtaken by weeds, and the wheels of Bellamy’s truck flatten many bald-headed dandelions as they pull up the slightly uneven flags. Clarke stops the engine on the sidewalk outside the house, and Octavia feels a sudden rush of anxiety as her friends appraise her little house. She looks to Bellamy, who shrugs.

“C’mon. I can’t remember if I locked the front door or not,”

“Bellamy!”

Her brother jumps out of the car, laughing, and Octavia scrambles after him, only half-sure that he was joking. She throws a half-eaten tube of Mentos at his head, missing terribly. Bellamy sticks out his tongue at her, bending to pick the sweets up. He shovels half of the packet into his mouth with a grin. Octavia’s reassured by the sound of his key in the lock, and wishes that she had something else to throw at Bellamy as he ducks into the house. Instead she turns to her friends instead, a nervous smile on her face.

“Nice digs,” Raven calls, using the door of Clarke’s car to pull herself out.

“I like the orange paint,” Clarke comments awkwardly, travelling to Raven’s side of the car – she fully anticipates the way Raven slaps away her offer of help, so instead she leans against the car and watches her best friend struggle with amused exasperation.

“It was my mom’s favourite colour,” Octavia grins, joining her friends in staring up at her house, “A lot of our clothes were that colour as well,”

“Christ,” Raven snorts, immediately cringing at Clarke’s glare. Octavia laughs brightly.

“No, I get it. It’s a pretty… bold shade.” Octavia is fully aware of the fact that their house is an eyesore, but she’d never change it – if only for that fact that it really gets on Bellamy’s nerves.

“It’s hideous, Octavia,” Bellamy says flatly as he comes back out of the house. Octavia grins at him, opening her mouth to tell him to kindly fuck off, but instead Clarke flies to the house’s defence.

“Bellamy!” She snaps in her best matronly tone. Octavia hides her smile behind her hair. Trust Clarke to be ready to fight Bellamy over the colour of a house.

Bellamy fully ignores Clarke, turning on his heel and staring up at the bright panelling, carrying on in his bland, even tone, “It was probably hideous when it was painted, too. I still don’t know why you won’t let me paint over it.”

“It was mom’s favourite colour,” Octavia replies simply, her smile bright. Not that she’d admit it, but she actually quite likes the horde of Pistachio-coloured paint that Bellamy thinks he’s hidden in the basement. But she’d rather suffer with a disgustingly coloured house for the rest of her life than let her brother think he’s won something.

“Yeah, that doesn’t stop it from being god-awful,” He glances back at them, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh my _god_ , Blake.” Raven murmurs, her eyes wide. Her smirk is barely hidden her teeth biting down on her lips. Even Clarke chokes on a laugh – though whether it’s due to the truth of the statement or Bellamy being the one who said it, Octavia can’t be sure.

“What about a nice, pastel sort of colour?” Bellamy suggests, stepping back to stand in line with the three girls. Clarke covers her mouth with the back of her fingers, her eyes frowning at Bellamy. Raven looks away completely, shaking her head at Bellamy’s persistence. Of course, neither of them could know that the awful colour of their house was a long argued point that neither of them reused to move on, simply because they didn’t want to back down.

“Like a sort of light green?” Octavia muses, bringing a hand to her chin. She sees the light in Bellamy’s eyes, and is very happy, and eager, to crush it. “No, I don’t think it’d go.”

Bellamy swears under his breath.

“Did I just hear that, young man?” A woman’s voice calls jovially from behind them, and all four of them turn to see an older couple crossing the street.

“Julie!” Octavia yells, bubbling with sudden excitement. Having the Miller’s live over the road from them was possibly the best thing that could have happened to the Blakes. Octavia truly doesn’t know what would have happened to them if David and Julie hadn’t been there for them when their mother died. (They would have died of starvation, probably. Or something equally as preventable)

She falls into Mrs Millers hug easily, and it’s just natural to feel Mr Miller’s arms come around the both of them as well.

“Don’t let Nathan see that,” Bellamy jokes, waltzing up to receive his own hugs. He’s tugged over by Julie’s hand on his wrist, and she has a wicked smile on her face.

“Pfft,” Julie flaps a hand and pulls Octavia closer, so she’s got a Blake on either side of her, “Nate knows by now that Octavia is our favourite child.”

"It's true," Octavia confirms, turning in the Millers' arms to grin at Bellamy. "I always get the biggest slice of cake."

Bellamy raises his eyebrows and snorts, and just behind him Octavia spots Clarke and Raven peering over the Mercedes curiously. 

 

"Oh, right," she pulls herself from the hug gently, walking back over to the car. Raven looks at her with wide, sceptical eyes, and Octavia winks. "This is Raven and Clarke. Guys, these are Miller's parents; David and Julie."

 

"Oh, Clarke and Raven!" Julie exclaims, as if she fully wasn’t expecting the two late additions to Christmas at the Miller’s. She catches her husband’s hand and tugs him over to the girls, leaving Bellamy stood in the middle of the road by himself. He closes his eyes for a brief second, apparently needing some mental fortification for the oncoming exchange.

 

"And I know who is who! Nate showed me you Facebooks! Not that I was supposed to tell you that, of course, but still. Welcome!"

 

"Uh, hi, Mrs Miller." Clarke says, wearing a slightly uneasy smile in the face of all Julie's enthusiasm. 

 

"No! Call me Julie! And make sure you call him David," she protests, thumping her husband’s arm. Sheriff Miller nods absently, looking over his wife's shoulder to roll his eyes at Bellamy. 

 

Julie thumps him again without even looking away from the girls, her smile turning sharp for half a second at David’s yelp. “What do you think of Walden?” She queries, leaning against her husband.

 

"The poor girls have only just gotten out of the house, Jules; what with the ambush you just launched." David says, his arm wrapping around his wife's hip, his fingers clenching just enough to make her squirm and scowl up at him. Raven raises her eyebrows, and the incredulity she’s feeling is almost palpable. David looks at Raven and Clarke with an apologetic smile. “She saw your cars pull up, and was ready and raring to go. It was all I could do to keep her in the house.”

 

“That’s a dirty lie-” Julie tries to protest, but is interrupted by a deadpan from Bellamy.

 

“You were waiting in the hall, weren’t you?”

 

“Shut-up,” Julie grumbles, sending a mock-sneer at Bellamy. He hoots and comes to stand beside her, grinning at Clarke. Clarke raises her eyebrows at him, seemingly unimpressed.

 

"Um, no, we haven't done much but look at the house," Clarke explains after a second. She has on her best, people-pleasing smile. It fits well with her soft, grey jumper; elegant side-braid, and her sensible shoes. Even Raven has made an effort – despite what Octavia knows about her and not caring about first impressions. Her red jacket has been replaced by a loose cardigan of the same colour that hides her brace, and she’s swapped out her dangerous looking boots for a pair of flats.

 

“And what do you think of Aurora’s choice of colouring?” Julie prods, tilting her head to glance at the top floor of the house for a second. Clarke shrugs delicately, her face completely inscrutable. Raven smirk turns into a snort, which she fails to disguise with a cough.

“Don’t be coy, princess,” Bellamy calls, “She’s on Octavia’s side,” He tells Julie, his tone disappointed. Julie looks at Clarke sadly, pursing her lips.

“Stop it, you two,” Sheriff Miller says with another roll of his eyes, “If the girl likes the paint, she’s allowed to. It doesn’t make her a bad person.”

“We’re not questioning her character,” Julie says with a sniff, “Only her taste.”

Apparently, that statement completely breaks Raven, because suddenly she’s bracing all of her weight against Clarke’s car, her shoulders shaking with the force of her laughter. Julie fails to hide her grin at the fact that she made Raven laugh so much, turning to her husband proudly. David rolls his eyes _again._

“Her _taste_!” She splutters, when she can finally talk. “Her goddamn _taste_. Oh, Jesus.” She swipes at her eyes with the back of her hands, looking at Clarke with a grin. “It’s like she _knows_ you, Griffin.”

“Okay, now you’re just being rude,” Clarke says, but she’s practically unheard over the round of chuckling. (Sheriff Miller _can_ be heard apologising for both his wife and Bellamy)

Bellamy had turned a delightful shade of pink when Clarke’s taste had been called into question, (due both, Octavia thinks, to the implications Raven made, and the eye contact the two had made just as Raven had burst into laughter) and the colour had only just died down now. When Clarke looks back at him, her own cheeks flare into life, and they avoid each other’s eyes quite determinedly.

Julie raises her eyes to meet Octavia’s own briefly, her eyebrows drawn and a question half-formed on her lips. Octavia flaps a hand and mouths ‘later’. Julie’s eyebrows shoot up for a bare second, her grin back up in place. She claps her hands.

“So, are you having dinner at your house, Bell? Or should I add a few more places to our table?”

Bellamy scratches the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. David rolls his eyes again at the answer that’s going to be coming.

“Well, considering I haven’t been grocery shopping in a few months…”

“Excellent. Good job I’ve made a stew!”

“She’s been buzzing about you kids coming back for _weeks_ ,” He says to the four of them assembled, “Honestly, she was going to make a bloody banquet until I managed to convince her otherwise.”

“David!” Julie huffs jokingly, tugging on her husband’s sleeve.

“What? They know how much you’ve missed them, you madwoman. Now c’mon, let them unpack.” Sheriff Miller wraps an arm around his wife before she can protest, all but pulling her away.

“Oh my god,” Raven laughs, when they’re far enough that they won’t hear them. She seems both amazed and confused by the Millers, which is actually quite normal for anyone who meets them.

“I know. It’s amazing that any of us turned out okay.” Bellamy says with a soft, fond smile. Octavia feels a similar one on her own face; because, after all, they’re talking about the couple who basically took in three kids to raise, along with their own one. Out of the corner of her eye, Octavia can see Clarke melt slightly at the loving expression on Bell’s face. Raven gags slightly, breaking the pair of them out of it.

Bellamy’s mouth moves – and he’s obviously trying to go for a smirk, but the expression is ruined slightly by the blush coming back down onto his face, leaving him looking a little silly. Octavia’s snicker transforms his face into a sullen scowl.

“C’mon,” he mutters, “Let me show how hideous the inside of the house is as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can make no promises about any new chapters, other than that i'll try?? idk
> 
>  
> 
> (also, what do you think of Julie??? bc i'm gonna be honest and say that she's my new fave)


	21. I'm a Massive Disapointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (though i s2g i dunno how any of u are still interested in this absolute trainwreck, but ty and ily u all)  
> ((sorry again))

Hi guys.

 

I'm very sorry to tell you all this, but Moving On Is Never Simple is now officially defunct. I've re-read my own work recently after taking such a long break, and I'm just not happy with it any more. Intstead of trying to fix it (which would take about ten years, trust me) I've decided that when i have the time - and the inclination (though that might come soon with S3 so close!) - I'm going to redo the whole thing. Bigger and better and with a much more coherent plot.

I'm so so _so_ grateful to everyone who stuck with this fic, and im really so very sorry if im disapointing anyone by discontinuing it, but i just feel that it has to be done. Hopefully you'll read the new version when i eventually write it, but i don't blame you if this absolute shambles of month-long gaps and incosistensies has put you off my work for life!

 

Thank you, and hopefully i might have something new for you soon :)

**Author's Note:**

> There you have it. there is more chapters to come, and i'll try and post regularly, but it might not always go to plan.  
> Thank you for reading! If you want, my tumblr is [loseroniousjaha](http://loseroniousjaha.tumblr.com/) , and you can come talk the 100 to me anytime!


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